Santa's Helpers
by bjxmas
Summary: Preseries. While investigating Santanappings at the mall the Winchesters make the ultimate sacrifice. Dean is an elf, John is Santa and that’s not even the weird part. Come along on a strange joyride cause Xmas was never this whacked out before.
1. Santa Claus is Coming to Town

Santa's Helpers was written for Xmas 2006 and updated for Xmas 2007. It was my first attempt at a humor fic, and even though I found it extremely challenging, it was a total blast to write. I must admit the demon in me would so love to see Dean and John, ahem, _Jensen and Jeffrey_, play dress up. No disrespect intended, but I do believe they would be adorable, especially their facial expressions. I am probably dreaming here, but other shows do special Christmas episodes. How about it Kripke? How about a little merriment for the Winchesters next Christmas?

Kripke, did you listen to little ol' me? LOL Thank you, Kripke and Company for giving me an early Christmas present with your special presentation of A Very Supernatural Christmas. With the brotherly moments and the reappearance of the Wee!chesters it was the best present I could ever ask for! Now... about next year...

_This story is dedicated to my two favorite elves, Zachary and Logan. Zach, you were robbed; you absolutely had the best calves in your senior class, but like Dean, with all your other fine attributes, it is so hard to focus on just one. Lo, you still have the chance to take that honor and your calves are every bit as awesome as your brother's. Go for it, dude! _

Santa's Helpers

Chapter One – Santa Claus is Coming to Town

"Caleb, you want me to do WHAT?"

"John, lives depend on this. It's a hard job, but someone has to do it."

"Yeah? Then how about you? You do it! Dean and I came out here to give you a hand and maybe catch a glimpse of Sammy, but this? You've lost your mind if you think I'm falling for this. _No way!_ You play dress up."

"It won't work; they'll be able to tell. I don't like this any better than you, but we've got no choice. You're the only one who can pull this off, John. Face it, I'm not believable; hell, I'd scare 'em to death. I'm too ugly and mean to be Santa, kids would never buy it."

"Like they're going to believe _him?_" Dean asked incredulously.

"Exactly. That's what I've been saying. This isn't going to work," John agreed, relieved to have an ally in Dean.

"John, it will. Trust me. You're perfect for this role, you're… you're just a big old teddy bear…," Caleb paused, reconsidering that comment before quickly adding, "when you don't have a gun in your hand."

"You've got to admit it, Dad. Caleb has you pegged. I've always considered you just a big, old, loveable teddy bear," Dean snickered, enjoying Caleb's plan now more than he should considering the probable fallout from John's wrath. Still, what could he have to worry about? In twenty-two years on this earth he'd gotten a few tongue lashings, but his dad had never threatened to get physical. _That is until now._

Furious that his son had switched sides so quickly John retaliated. "Dean, if you hope to reach your twenty-third birthday next month, you better shut your cake hole."

"Yes, sir." Quick, submissive response, too bad the smirk wasn't as convincing.

"John, you going to let these good men die cause you're a vain son of a bitch?"

"Caleb, _I... don't... do... costumes."_

"John, we're out of options here. Another Santa disappeared last night. That makes four in two weeks. You can't say no to my plan unless you've got a better one that's gonna work; men's lives are at stake here. If we don't find out who's grabbing these Santas, who knows how this will all end up?"

"Yeah, Dad, what if they snatch the real Santa? There'd be a lot of disappointed kids out there. You don't want to be responsible for that now do ya, big guy?"

John shot daggers at his son. If looks held half the firepower of his shotgun then Dean would collapse to the floor bloodied by a fatal blow. As it was John plotted his revenge, which would come swift and painful at a most unexpected time. John smiled to himself at the image he was conjuring in his mind. _Payback is a bitch!_

"All right Caleb, you win. I'll do it, but no one, and I repeat _no one_, ever breathes a word of this to anyone or they forfeit their life _or worse_. Do I _make myself clear?"_

"Yes, sir." Dean smiled; relieved he had paid the extra bucks to get the camera phone.

Resigned to the inevitable, John then turned to Caleb and inquired, "So what are you and Dean going to do?"

"Well, now that you're here, I need to head on up the coast and check out a job in Frisco, but Dean here, Dean needs to stay close to you."

"Yeah, I was thinking I could be a security guard. That would give me access to the premises and no one really notices them, kinda give me free run of the place," Dean offered.

Caleb looked contrite as he responded, "Sorry, that won't do, too distant. One of the Santas disappeared with three security guards right outside the North Pole station."

"Oh, yeah? Well they weren't _me_ now were they? Don't worry Dad, you're not gonna go missing this Christmas. I got you covered." Dean gave his dad a confident, smug grin.

"Video surveillance didn't show anything either. No, you're going to have to be right there with John, watching his back or I'm afraid we could be looking for missing Santa number five," Caleb stated.

Dean intently listened. "So what's your plan, Caleb?"

"Sorry Dean, no way around it. No other option."

Dean offered a quizzical look, "Not following you here Caleb, just exactly _what are you saying?"_

"You're going to have to be _in_ the North Pole _with_ Santa. You're going to have to be one of Santa's Helpers…._an elf_."

"Come again?"

"You heard him, Dean. Welcome to the party my little elf friend," John chortled.

"No freaking way."

"Look son, sometimes you have to take one for the team." John consoled his son, the huge grin breaking out across his face announcing that, _YES!_ _there is some justice in the world!_

"Yeah well, nice try guys, but I think I'm a little tall for an elf."

"Not a problem. Equal Employment Opportunity Act protects your rights. Aberrant height for an elf would qualify as a disability," Caleb informed them.

"So you're calling me disabled?" Dean blurted out as he started to pout.

"You said it, not me." John laughed. _Maybe this little job isn't going to be so bad after all._

All Dean could focus on was the injustice of it all. _What kind of freaking Demon would pass such a stupid law?_

Dean wondered how Caleb came up with all this enlightening info; the man was a walking encyclopedia sometimes, kinda reminded him of his wayward kid brother. He'd been hoping to catch up with Sammy with a little side trip; you know, check out his new digs, make sure he was taking care of himself, see if he'd grown any taller.

Man, he sure missed him; nothing was the same since he left. He knew even Dad was looking forward to seeing him; even if they didn't get the chance to actually talk, just seeing him would be something. _But now?_ Somehow he didn't think they'd be running over to visit Sammy at Stanford. _Hell, I'm gonna be hiding out big time on this gig._

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Sam had settled into life at Stanford and found a home of his own for the first time. He had a small apartment just off campus with a roommate who was also pre-law. His roomie had a girlfriend, Stevie, who come to think of it seemed to be living there too. He wasn't sure how that actually came about, but she was a nice girl, a little too quirky for him, but he figured it was her southern California roots.

She had befriended him from the start and was determined to force feed him all the experiences that had been lacking in his less than traditional upbringing; not that he talked about his family, but some things just tended to stand out. Like he hated Halloween, was unfamiliar with the social ramifications of a family Thanksgiving dinner and worse still, seemed to be ignorant of common Christmas practices.

"Haven't you ever decorated a Christmas tree before? You don't know the lights go on first, then the garland and _then_ the ornaments? What planet did you say you were raised on?"

_Now that hurt._ If he came from another planet he would have superpowers, which he evidently didn't possess because he couldn't even get the freaking lights to all light up at the same time. _What Demon invented decorating Christmas trees anyway?_

He was quickly becoming versed in all things Christmas, thanks to Stevie, who had taken him on as her personal charity case. He had already participated in the traditional mall Christmas shopping, although he wasn't too sure why he should be buying all these presents when he wasn't close to that many people yet. He considered buying his dad and brother presents and shipping them, but then again he wouldn't know where to ship them, and they would probably just laugh at him anyway. Stevie had him buying sweaters and ties and he knew neither would appreciate either.

He did take a name of a disadvantaged kid off of the Christmas tree at the mall and that made him feel good. He picked a kid named Dean who was ten and wanted a remote control car. He was glad this Dean would get what he wanted for Christmas. Christmas _was _for the kids after all.

Stevie not only had him decorating the tree with well over a thousand ornaments (at least that's when he stopped counting, which to any reasonably sane person would be enough), but also decorating the entire interior of the apartment. After one full day of testing lights and hanging garland and ornaments from every imaginable precipice, he assumed they were done. _Wrong again!_ She then moved outside with icicle lights from the roof, an animated, lighted deer on their small patio and a flashing sign in the window proclaiming "Merry Christmas". The blinking lights gave him a headache and made studying in his room more than annoying; they made it downright impossible.

As far as the Christmas baking went, he was mainly the taste tester, which for once seemed liked the ideal job. It was the perfect arrangement; she baked and he devoured the goodies. _At last this Christmas revelry has a benefit! _He was finally in tune with the true purpose of Christmas! However, as they got closer to the big day her undying cheeriness was becoming increasingly unsettling. He had always known she was high strung and quirky, but Christmas just seemed to bring out the worst in her.

After three days of following her around like a lost puppy, doing her bidding, it suddenly occurred to him that her boyfriend, his roomie Don, was noticeably absent from all these activities. _What's up with that? _Seems Don had learned after last year to be exorbitantly busy this time of year. Stevie barely noticed since she had a pattern of always finding a new sucker for her Christmas adventures and Sam was simply this year's flavor.

_That's cool, I never really had a Christmas before, I can take one time and if it makes Stevie happy, who am I to deny her? But, there are limits._ _I swear I am not going Christmas caroling. I have that wicked looking knife Dean gave me for my sixteenth birthday and if I get pushed too far, I know how to use it. As a prelaw, I can attest there isn't a jury in the country that would convict._

-------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm telling you, you're not going to find anything to fit. I'm too tall to be an elf."

"Oh no, I know we have an outfit that would be perfect for you. We once had a college basketball player work Christmas break as an elf. His costume must be around here somewhere." The perky, perpetually giddy forty-year old with a child's squeaky voice who was in charge of the "Santa Team" was so getting on Dean's nerves. _I mean come on, a full grown woman gushing over elves?_

"He must have been a real loser."

"Oh no, quite the civic minded young man. Oh, we're in luck, here it is. My, my, this is a _nice_ one; you are going to look adorable."

"Terrific."

Dean sat in the dressing room for an interminable amount of time, wrestling with his conscience, weighing the pros and cons, _especially the cons_. How could he even be considering lowering himself to this level? But then again, how could he let his vanity and pride stop him from doing the job? Lives depended on this and he was a hunter. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. Someone had to stand up to evil and demand justice for the innocent; he just wished he wouldn't be doing it in a _freaking elf costume_.

_Damn it all!_ He'd done some distasteful things in his life before, but this, _man_, how was he ever going to live this down? The only thing in his favor was Caleb had already taken off and that meant the only one he knew that would ever know about this was Dad. If you can't trust you own dad with your dirty little secret then who can you trust? _Yeah right, like I could trust him?_ _I can't trust anyone with this…, still, Dad's in the same boat, I mean, I'm just a no name elf, he's the big guy, Santa himself._

Letting out a deep huff, Dean resigned himself to being the soldier and doing his duty, however painful and humiliating it might be. He laid out his outfit and stripped out of his comfort zone. Once he had made up his mind, he proceeded quickly; the less he obsessed over this the better. He was gonna do it, so he might as well just _do it!_

He folded his jeans and t-shirt, placing them on the bench on top of his boots, his worn leather jacket draped protectively over them. He glanced longingly at them as he averted his eyes when his image startled him in the mirror. Like Dad, he had never been into costumes before, the rare occasion being the suit and tie that up until this point in his life had been the most uncomfortable outfit he had ever worn. _I guess that rates a distant second now._

Jeannie, the peter pan of the elf brigade, was waiting for him as he exited the dressing room, ready for the inspection.

"Oh, you ARE adorable! All right, this is just a dress rehearsal, have to make sure we all know our roles before the children see us. Where's your hat?"

"There isn't a hat."

"Yes, I'm sure I saw a hat. Wait right here." Jeannie raced back into the dressing room, searching in vain Dean hoped.

"I'm pretty sure there wasn't a hat, I mean, I would have seen it if there was," Dean yelled after her.

"How'd it get in there?"

"**What?"** _No, that was not panic in my voice._

"I said I don't know how it got in the bottom of the garbage can, but whew, that was close. Can't be an elf without your hat. Here you go darling, let me put in on for you." She tried to reach up but the height difference prevented her so she just motioned for him to lean down. With a humiliation he had once thought he could never descend to, he leaned over and surrendered his manhood. She snuggly placed the matching hat on his head, the tassel with the tinkling bell falling to the side of his face.

"Perfect," she exclaimed.

"Perfect," he muttered.

"I think your dad is almost ready. He's in Room 7. Why don't you go down and surprise him."

"Yeah, sure."

Dean pondered the course of this job. _Surprise.., yeah that was an adequate description for the job so far. Remind me never to answer Caleb's phone calls again._

"Dad, you dressed?" Dean rapped two knuckles on the door.

No answer. Dean twisted the door knob and it opened. Standing before him, facing away, was the jolly old elf himself. He was a vision in red in a luscious red velvet suit covering broad shoulders. Fluffy, white fur trimmed the suit at the collar and wrists and around the bottom of the jacket. A wide, black vinyl belt was cinched tight over an abundant waistline, and then completing the look was matching shiny black boots at the base and at the top, long curly white hair spilling past the neck and draping over the shoulders.

Dean braced himself; he had never been this close to Santa Claus before. Slowly the stately vision turned and it was a toss up which Winchester fell into more raucous laughter. Dean, at seeing his dad's twinkling eyes and dimpled look of exasperation still evident behind the granny glasses and the full white beard and mustache; or John, at staring at his manly, hunter of a son decked out in a green, bell trimmed hoodie over a red and white horizontally striped t-shirt, with bright purple knickers, snug on his hips but baggy in the legs before coming to a pinched, snapped end at his knees. His calves were encased in matching red and white horizontally striped socks and then the final, agonizing detail: the shiny black elf shoes with those ridiculously curved up pointed toes with bells hanging off the tips of them. Every step Dean took his bells rang out announcing his arrival so no one could possibly miss the spectacle that awaited them. Of course, the scowl on his face ruined the whole effect.

"You need to learn to smile there, dude; remember Santa's Helpers are merry and gay."

"Dad, don't even mention gay while I'm dressed in this _ridiculous_ costume."

"Son, it's for the greater good."

John was at least grateful he had a full beard and the glasses to somewhat hide behind. Dean's handsome face was exposed for all the world to see and marvel at his descent into an obviously painful and desperate time in his life. After all, only a man truly down on his luck would humiliate himself and take on a job such as this; either that or he was some kind of pervert who got off on dressing like a dapper pansy and parading around like a lunatic. Every girl over the age of seven would be drooling over his son and yet pitying him for his lack of moral fortitude. _Maybe I need to reconsider that payback plot; it could be Dean is already suffering enough. Then again…._

Dean wished for once he didn't always have to follow Dad's orders, that he didn't have this overwhelming need to be responsible and do whatever the job entailed. _Damn, I've done some unsavory things in this job, but this.…man!_

"Show time! OK team, let's look alive. Remember, the North Pole is the happiest place on earth. Smile everybody." _This woman has to be possessed, _Dean was sure of it.

"I thought that was Disneyland?" Dean asked.

"Not this month."

TBC


	2. Winter Wonderland

Chapter Two – Winter Wonderland

It was bad enough parading around in those horrendous costumes for the dress rehearsal, but neither John nor Dean could imagine what the real deal would be like, where they actually had to face the kids and their _parents_. They tried to convince themselves they could handle the kids. After all, the kids are supposed to be caught up in the moment, the excitement of meeting Santa and all; they really shouldn't be paying too strict attention to the _humans _bringing him and his helpers to life.

The parents were another matter. Dean was beginning to realize he drew the short end of the stick on this one. Somehow it seemed more honorable to be Santa, more _forgivable_. A full grown man masquerading as an elf on the other hand, sounded so _unseemly_. And every adult who visited the North Pole would recognize that, _he was sure of it. _All the other elves were short, young, baby-faced teenagers who would sell their souls for six bucks an hour and the employee discount at the mall. _How did I ever get sucked into this?_

Jeannie, the ringleader of this freaking circus, stood on a step stool clapping her hands together loudly, "Okay people, listen up. Great run-through. This is the best group of Santa's Helpers I have ever had the privilege of knowing. We are going to have a great time out there. _Right?"_

A deafening roar rose up as all the hyped up elves responded back, **"RIGHT!"**

"Dean, you all right there, dude?"

"Dad, just kill me now."

"A Winchester doesn't give up. Just remember the mission. Duty, honor, and _an elf is always merry." _John grinned, finding release from his own agony in his son's misery.

Dean's spirits sank; he now knew he was in for years of ribbing. _Aren't fathers supposed to look out for their sons? Protect them from harm? Save them from undue hardship and ridicule? Guess Dad lost the instruction manual on that._

Jeannie was talking again, stirring up more pep rally sentiment. "Great news people, I just received word that the ears came in! Lauren from the special effects department at Paramount has arrived and we are going to be the most authentic elves this mall has ever seen! We don't have a lot of time so everyone head on over to hair and makeup and we'll get you ready. One hour 'til showtime, let's look alive people!"

"Dad, you happen to know what an 'authentic' elf looks like?"

"No clue."

Jeannie then stepped down from her perch and was hustling the elves toward the makeup room when she spied Dean and rushed over.

"I swear, Dean, you are the cutest elf of all."

Dean just stood there staring, while John started chuckling again. _What the hell am I supposed to say to that? Does she have any clue how freaky that sounds? How humiliating?_

"Dean, before you go get your ears on, you need to lose the Crockett stubble, okay hon? Give me a nice, smooth shave and then go on over and get your ears on."

"Come again?"

"What, honey? You've got such soft, smooth skin; it really is a shame to hide it under that stubble." She reached up and touched his face. "Soft as a baby's bottom, I bet you always get carded at the bars, don't you, hon?"

_All right, that does it. Where's my gun?_

"Dean always did look young, a real benefit, wouldn't you say son?" John gave Dean _that_ look, the one that says just play along and trust the old man.

"Yeah, sure." _Trust you, Dad? __**Trust you?**__ You're the one who got us into this mess!_

"Alrighty then, run off and get your ears. I can't wait to see you when you're done. Such a _cutie_." Dean swore she was going to reach out and pinch his cheek. _No, not __**that**__ one._

John quickly grabbed Dean's arm, keeping him from throwing a punch. _Doesn't look good to hit a woman, even an obnoxious woman who deserves to die…, Sorry son, not the Winchester way._

Dean was one of the last ones to enter the makeup room, delaying the inevitable as long as humanly possible, preserving whatever shred of dignity he could still muster. As he turned the corner toward his last gasp, he encountered six adorable costumed elves now complete with pointy elf ears. _Oh, God! I guess this is what authentic means. Can this get any more humiliating?_

---------------------------------------------------------

Once the parameters of their Christmas relationship were defined, Sam found he was actually enjoying certain aspects of it. He felt really good for making little Dean's Christmas wish come true, so he readily agreed when Stevie presented her next project. It seemed like the logical next step. _What is it they say? It sounded like a good idea at the time? How could he know he was about to fall down the rabbit hole, never to be the same?_

"Sam, you are _so_ going to love this! Are you ready? Okay… they asked for volunteers to take the orphans down to the mall to see Santa! We get to spend the day with them, showing them the Christmas cheer! This is going to be so much fun!"

The interesting thing with Stevie was most of her conversations were spoken in exclamations. She got excited about things, which just naturally rubbed off on her accomplices and made them excited. Of course, in this case it was Sam Winchester, who wasn't used to getting excited about much, except of course, school.

"I don't know, Stevie. I'm not really used to being around kids. I'm not so sure I'm the one to help you on this." What had seemed like a good idea maybe wasn't his kind of thing after all.

"No excuses, Winchester. You're going to experience Christmas through their eyes. I know you never talk about your family, but didn't you at least have Christmas when you were a boy? I mean, what kind of dad doesn't give his little boys Christmas?"

"Look, it was just the three of us and I don't know, maybe it was a 'guy' thing. Honestly, I don't remember being bothered by it; it just wasn't important."

Sam wasn't really lying; he just wasn't telling the whole truth. When he was six, he expected Christmas like every other six year old, and that turned out to be the last time he ever felt like a regular kid. The other first graders had filled his head with all the standard stories of lollipops and candy canes, cozy beds filled with dreams of wonder, and Santa Claus coming down the fireplace delivering laughter and gifts and warm fuzzy feelings.

It was years later when he accidentally found out Dean was the only reason that Christmas didn't turn into the biggest disappointment of his life. He still didn't know how Dean accomplished it all, but somehow he knew how critical that Christmas was for his brother and he came through. Even Dad had been shocked to wander home Christmas Eve to a fresh cut tree decorated with popcorn garland and dozens of Sammy's art projects and the two boxes of glass ornaments Dean had picked up for fifty cents each at the thrift store.

Early the next morning when Sammy crawled out of bed he found six packages under the tree with his name on them. He had asked where Dean's presents were and Dean had said he couldn't wait and had already opened them. Being six, Sam hadn't even thought to question that.

"You know what? I'd love to help make Christmas happen for these orphans. I am at your disposal O' Great One. What do you need me to do?"

"Oh, that's more like it. Let's go pick up the kids and then it's off to see Santa! Oh Sam, you are going to love this!"

"I bet I am."

--------------------------------------------------------------

This truly was the final torture. The damn things itched and he wasn't sure if the glue holding them on would ever come back off again. He still remembered the time Sammy super glued his hand to a beer can when he was still underage, and he had to drive home one handed, praying a cop didn't stop him. _Excuse me son, have you been drinking tonight? No? Then would you mind explaining what the freaking beer can is doing glued to your freaking hand? _Ten layers of skin came off before he got the damn thing cut off. That's when he was forced to retaliate with the Nair. _Taught you a thing or two about messing with big brother, huh, Kojak?_

"All right, Santa's Helpers, it's _show time! _Final inspection, file past, let me get a good look at you. Okay, who needs a little color for their cheeks? You there, come here." She pulled out a powder puff and started dusting rouge on the cheeks of the elves as they filed past. "Remember, elves are rosy and perky. Dean come over here, hon."

"No thanks."

"Dean, you need just a dab, you look so adorable, just the final, perfect touch." She held out the puff like a gauntlet. He stared at her, daring her with his eyes to throw it down. _Do it and I am so wasting your ass! _His look seemed to convey his feelings on the subject and she backed away from him. "Oh, all right, you do seem to have quite a bit of natural blush there." _You think?_

Finally _something _was going his way. He closed his eyes picturing himself anywhere but here, _I believe, I believe….oh hell, I am stuck in purgatory._ _Futile hope of the delusional to believe I could escape this hellhole. A soldier does his duty, whatever the circumstances… _He went through the doors into a Winter Wonderland and took his position to the right of Santa's throne. He would be the last elf to usher the children up to Santa, helping to lift them onto Santa's lap if they were among the thirty percent of children in the country who lacked the athletic skills to climb onto the jolly old elf's lap.

The line to see Santa had already grown to a small mob. _God, what is wrong with these people? _The first little girl in line was fidgeting from having already waited over forty-five minutes. As Santa walked in, all the children stopped fussing and stared in awe.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!" John bellowed. Dean just about fell over in shock, his old man was the perfect Santa Claus! _Who'da thunk?_ Santa waved merrily to all the children and walked up to his throne. _And so the games begin._ There was a large clock behind Santa on the wall and Dean was instructed to not let any child dally past four minutes, gotta keep the line flowing. He hated being a clock watcher. Hell, that's one of the reasons he liked his hunting job; he didn't have to live on a time table, didn't have to punch a clock.

_Oh, damn, I forgot to punch in this morning, can't get used to living regular. I damn well better get paid for today, I'm earning every freaking cent._

Forty-two children later and it was time for their morning break. Time had never moved so slowly; this was excruciatingly hard work. How do regular people do this kinda work? His back was killing him from bending over and lifting all these helpless kids onto Santa's lap. Dad had it pretty darn good; just got to sit there, pretend to be interested in their wish lists, offer a few platitudes and then a fond farewell. Dean had the hard job yet again. _I really did get screwed in this deal!_

"Dean, you see anything suspicious?"

"Yeah, I noticed I'm doing all the hard work and you get to sit on your ass all day long."

"You think this is easy? Huh? You just try having all these kids squirming around on your lap. I swear that little boy with the stuffed alligator peed his pants before you put him up there. I could smell it and… _feel_ it."

"Need to know basis, Dad. Not relevant to the job."

"Yeah, well you need to screen them better. He should have been cut out of the line."

"Sue me."

Jeannie walked through then, making a final check that all the elves and the big guy were still presentable, brandishing that powder puff like a weapon until she came upon the Winchesters, at which point she hastily retreated again to the other side of the room.

"So, Dad, you have any ideas on how they're snatching these Santa's right off their throne?"

"Nope, but none of them lasted more than three days so I imagine we'll find out soon enough. You packing?"

"Dad. _Look at me._ Where in the hell would I put a gun that couldn't be seen by about a thousand kids? But don't worry big guy, you're safe. Earlier I stashed a couple by the candy canes and giant lollipops; I can get to them quick enough when the time comes. How about you?"

"Let's just say, there's a lot of room in this belly." John's eyes gleamed as he shook his ample belly.

_Damn, if I didn't know better I'd think he was the real deal. He just has that Santa aura._

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Sam and Stevie arrived at the mall with four young charges, age's four to nine, two boys and two girls. Sam didn't go to the mall very often, not much into shopping aside from his previous shopping experience with Stevie. If it wasn't for this excursion with the kids he would have been avoiding the mall on a day like this. It was crowded and noisy, filled with last minute holiday shoppers. _Exactly the kind of place I would normally avoid._

This was Stevie's show so she made the first decision. "Sam, why don't you take the kids to the food court for some lunch and I'll go check out the Santa line, see how long it is and whether we should do the shopping first, or visit with Santa."

"Sure, how about it kids? You hungry?" They all nodded in agreement, already excited about what they would get to eat, just the first of many treats planned for them on this adventure.

He ordered two large pizzas and found a table large enough to hold them all and got the kids situated. Listening to their stories about losing both their parents or being abandoned by a lone surviving parent tugged at his heart and made him realize for the first time that maybe Dean and he were lucky Dad stuck around and tried his best to raise them in a difficult situation. At least they were kept together as a family.

He now saw it could have gone so very differently. Maybe it was the time of year, maybe it was finally growing up, or _maybe_ it was just seeing the cold, harsh alternative sitting before him; but he now saw his dad's side and he realized how hard it must have been for him to keep going and keep his family together.

The pizza had just arrived when Stevie returned. She had decided as soon as they finished eating they should have their visit with Santa. The lines would dwindle down as everyone headed to lunch and they could get in before Santa took his lunch break at one.

The kids were sitting off to the side engaged in their own exciting conversation when Stevie just couldn't contain herself any longer.

"I should have come to see Santa sooner. There is one seriously hot elf over there."

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. Sam, he's gorgeous, that smile, that body… He's _really built_."

"You're drooling over an elf? Oh, and by the way, don't you have a boyfriend?"

"No harm looking, besides I have a geek boyfriend and he doesn't mind. We have an open relationship."

"Hmmm, news to me. But seriously, you _are _talking about an elf here. I didn't know you were into midgets."

"Sam, I never figured you were prejudiced."

"I'm _not_ prejudiced, but an _elf?_ Are you insane?"

"This isn't any elf. You should see this guy, and by the way he's tall, well, not as tall as you, but then again you are freakishly tall. He's just nice tall, well built, broad shoulders, trim butt and _killer calves_."

"Sounds like you're describing my brother," Sam deadpanned.

"What? Now _that_ is freaky. You think that sounds like your brother? That's kinda disturbing, Sam."

"No, I mean the calves part. Not too many guys are described as having killer calves. You gotta admit that's a strange thing to notice."

"Why?"

Sam smiled at the memory, definitely a strange factoid in Dean's past. Probably the main reason he adopted his 'I don't do shorts' policy. He pondered sharing his little anecdote, but his brother's voice in his head demanded privacy. Dean was much like Dad in the way he didn't like to be talked about, the Winchester motto always being keep your mouth shut and only give out the necessary information. Sam considered adhering to the policy, but what the hell, it was a _good story_ and they had time.

Sam earnestly looked at Stevie before continuing, "Let me ask you this, what do girls notice about a guy? What features do they look for?"

"You serious?"

"Yeah, spill."

"Well, great personality, intelligence…"

"No, the _surface_ stuff. What _physical _attributes does a girl notice and like in a guy?"

"Just the shallow, superficial stuff?"

"Exactly."

"Well, broad shoulders, nice ass, strong arms, six pack abs, muscular chest, tall, nice smile, strong chin, pretty eyes, nice bone structure…"

"All right, enough. That's my point, no mention of calves. Not what girls look for, kinda low on the radar."

"True, so what's your point?"

"You mentioned calves. _Why?"_

"Because this guy has great calves: muscular, strong, just the right proportions."

"But not important, so why even mention it?"

"Because they are _fucking great!"_

"Um, _language_."

"Oops, sorry kids." Of course they hadn't even looked up from their pizza, too immersed in their own conversation and people watching. Stevie continued on then, curious as to what Sam's point was, "So why did you think of your brother?"

Sam smiled again at the memory. "Funny story. We moved around a lot as kids and we just happened to start this new school just as they were preparing their 'best' list for the school yearbook. Some girl that had PE the same period as Dean became obsessed with his calves, kept ogling them. She actually went on a campaign to get him in the yearbook as guy with the best calves. She had pictures of his calves on posters and everything. Now mind you, if it had been best butt, shoulders or arms, hell, even best smile, Dean probably would have been posing on the steps of the library trying to garner votes, but best calves kinda had him at a loss."

"Interesting story, but this guy has better calves than your brother, hands down. This guy is _perfect_."

"Stevie, I hate to burst your bubble, but _obviously_ if he's working as an elf at the mall he's _not _perfect."

"I see, so you're a social snob too. Might have known."

"I'm just saying anyone with any self-respect over the age of twelve does not dress up as an elf for money and that's just fact."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Look, kid, trust me. You need to avoid the Backstreet Boys. You wanna go with classic rock, anything from Zeppelin and you can't go wrong."

"Who?"

_What's this world coming to?_

"Have it your way, kid; but you're just killing brain cells. Next."

"I need the bathroom." A little girl was crying as she frantically crossed her legs.

_Oh, God! _"Where's your mom, kid? Huh? _Mom?_ Anyone seen this kid's mom?" Dean was beginning to panic, faced with a deadly situation that all his training had hardly prepared him for. A female elf stepped forward then offering to escort her to the restroom when the girl indicated her mom had left her here while she went shopping. _Thank God someone else can show a little responsibility! I thought I was the only dedicated person around here._

"Next." Dean looked down the never ending line and again wondered how he would ever last the day. He had spent days waiting out evil on stakeouts under much harsher circumstances…, _what am I thinking!_ _Nothing is worse than being here and doing this job._

"You, kid, you know what you want for Christmas?"

"Yeah, I want the Red Rider Double Action BB Gun."

Dean eyed the boy up and down, ascertaining his skills. "You'll shoot your eye out. Move along."

His middle-aged mom breezed past Dean and suddenly he lurched forward, startled by the pinch to his butt. "So glad you agree with me. I told him no guns, guns are dangerous." She smiled suggestively at him and he cringed. _I'd say guns were protection from predators like you lady. Move along._

Dean was desperately watching the clock now as the time ticked down to their one o'clock lunch break. He had stopped watching the line that snaked through the candy cane lined walkway leading up to Santa, confident that 'if you build it, they will come, and come, and come'. _Don't these people have anything better to do with their time?_

With his back turned to the crowd he could pretend they didn't exist and he wasn't living and breathing in this hellhole. He could focus on his true objective, protecting Dad and figuring out how to bring back the missing Santas. He could temporarily retreat from his reality and focus on each individual kid that appeared before him. _Why did I take this job?_

"Next. What do you want?"

"Steven Seagal DVD's."

"Lame, dude. Die Hard, Lethal Weapon or Dirty Harry. Take your pick. Next."

Then in the calm before the next child approached he heard faint whispering, familiar comments being bandied about. Déjà vu struck hard and fast. "_Killer calves._ I just think those are the best calves I've ever seen. He's just the total package." And then he heard _the voice _and he froze, unable to move, unable to think, panic setting in under full force.

"It's just the horizontal stripes that make the calves stand out. Come on now, Stevie, you can't really think that guy is hot! He's dressed as a freaking elf. What a _loser."_

Dean glanced at the clock, ten minutes to go. _If I just stand here and don't move they'll leave when we close down for lunch. I can go over the backboard and never turn around. If he doesn't see my face he'll never recognize me._

Then Santa decided to make his presence known again.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Who wants to come see Santa?" John had grown tired of waiting for Dean to bring up the next kid. In his panic, Dean had left Santa high and dry with no child. _Please don't let him recognize the voice. Please, oh pretty please._

He should have known it was a futile hope; John had the most recognizable voice, low and raspy. He waited for the world to collapse in on him.

"_Santa?_ That voice! **Dad?!?** _What the hell?_ That elf? Those calves! _Oh God!_ **Dean?!?**" Sam stumbled back, his heel catching on the edge of the Winter Wonderland scene just enough to throw him off balance. He tried to regain his footing by grabbing on to something, but all he caught hold of was the white chain link and a candy cane pole that lined the walkway for the visitors to Santa, both of which offered all the support of dental floss to a man tumbling off Mount Everest.

His world was spinning, spiraling down that slippery slope, and he was a gangly, awkward teenager again, unable to control his own body, his weight against the entire precarious pathway bringing it tumbling down. He ended up on his butt on a mound of fake snow, in a state of total shock and disbelief that he was being reunited with his family under such strange and disturbing circumstances. He gazed up and only saw blinding white lights until dark forms blocked out the white and he was greeted by a circle of curious children staring down at him.

TBC


	3. Jingle Bells

Chapter Three – Jingle Bells

As Sam lay sprawled over the Winter Wonderland scene tangled in a mass of white chain link, the sea of young faces parted and was replaced by one familiar, yet totally incomprehensible vision. His brave, heroic, larger than life, action-hero brother was staring down at him with a quizzical look, a long tassel hanging forward from his little elf hat, the bell at the tip tinkling every time he moved.

"Sammy, you all right?" The old pattern of protecting kid brother totally overwhelmed any conscious realization of where he was or _how_ he was dressed as Dean's only concern was for Sammy's well being. Dean had momentarily forgotten he wasn't himself, but the look in Sam's eyes quickly snapped him back to reality.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing?"

_Oh shit! _Dean's mouth fell agape as the realization hit that he was busted, busted big time, and for the remainder of his days he would never be able to live down the humiliation of being an elf at the North Pole. At that point Dean silently prayed he would die young. Forget about leaving a good looking corpse, he just didn't want to hear about this for the next fifty years.

Thankfully, Jeannie was now taking control of the scene. In her high pitched voice she instructed everyone they would be breaking for lunch and to come back at two o'clock. She efficiently dispersed the crowd and the Winchester brothers found themselves alone at the North Pole, totally at a loss for words, just staring silently at each other.

Dean finally reached out his hand, thankful _it_ at least still appeared human, and helped his brother to his feet.

"Dean, what are you doing here?" There was a whispered sense of wonder in Sam's voice, a timbre Dean hadn't heard since Sam was a child.

_All right, I can do this. Just.. stay.. cool.._ In a deliberately casual manner Dean responded, "Working a job, what else?" Perhaps if he acted as if nothing was amiss, his brother might not notice the strange circumstances of this job. _Maybe_ he would just accept it.

"A job?"

"Yeah, Sammy, a job. You know, saving the day, protecting the innocents…, _the usual_."

"The usual? In an _elf costume?"_

_Hmmm, he's not buying it. Can't put anything over on my kid brother._ "Yeah, Sammy, it's called fitting in, _undercover_."

"Dean, you're dressed as an ….."

"Sammy, don't say it…, don't even _think _it!"

"But Dean, I had no idea you'd fallen this low."

"Look a man does what a man has to do... to do the job. _You_ _got it?"_

The look of earnest determination on Dean's face is what triggered Sam's outburst. Dean just looked _so_ _sincere. Now that was a joke! _Sam's high pitched cackle filled the North Pole Station. Dean looked hurt now, _truly_.., _deeply_… _hurt_ and that just made Sam laugh more. Tears were filling his eyes as the absurdity of Dean's plight hit home.

"But you're an _elf!" _Sam could barely get the words out between fits of laughter.

"Dude, get a grip, will ya?" Dean pleaded.

"Oh man, it's just… it's just.. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

Dean was growing angry, and he was scary when he got angry, which really wasn't that often. Dean had learned a long time ago to control his emotions, to hide his feelings. It took a lot to get his dander up to the point that you would even know he was mad; he was so conditioned to just seething and holding it all inside. This was anger tinged with embarrassment, and that was a deadly combination.

Dean responded with a fierce tone in his voice, "Yeah, well you may not live to see the night. You better shut your pie hole."

"Dean, you have to admit this is a bit weird."

"No, Sam. I don't have to _admit_ to anything." _Denial…, it works for the President.., why not me?_

"You have _Spock ears!_"

"_No, they're not!_ They're authentic elf ears, finest you can find."

"Dude, you're delusional."

"Sam, _don't_ say another word."

Sam had forgotten _the look_ Dean got in his eyes, the look of promised death, quick and nasty. It was an intimidating look for anyone not acquainted with his brother. To be honest, it had scared the shit out of Sam a time or two in the past. _In the past, dude._

"Dean… "

"Sam, I said shut up. One more word and I am going to shoot you."

Sam laughed, pushing the limits one more time, knowing his true boundaries all too well. "Dean, I should have known it was you. You've still got the _killer calves_!"

Dean deflated at that moment, defeated and unable to continue fighting to maintain his dignity, resigned to being _elf boy_. "Sammy, just keep your peepers off my calves, you hear?"

"Yes sir, Mr. Elf."

"Oh, God!"

"So, Sam, this _is_ your brother?" Sam had not even realized Stevie was still there, patiently waiting to the side where they had been ushered when Jeannie dispersed the crowd. Once everyone else had left, she came back over. The four orphans tagging along behind her were fascinated by this enormous elf before them.

"Are you a real elf?" the four year old asked.

"What?" Dean was distracted, barely listening or even looking at the voice pestering him.

"Are you a _real_ elf?"

Dean started to speak, but was cut off by an insistent look by Sam. "What, dude?"

"Of course he's a real elf, aren't you, Mr. Elf?" Sam prodded.

Dean suddenly looked at the child before him, wonder filling the little guy's blue eyes, hope eternal in his smile. _Damn it all! _"Ah, yeah, of course I am."

"Do you grant wishes?"

"I can't exactly. I mean, Santa brings the presents. I'm just Santa's Helper."

"Can you tell him something?"

"Ah, sure, what is it kid?"

"Just tell him, I don't want any toys, okay? Tell him I just want a Mommy and Daddy."

Now, didn't that just knock the wind out of Dean's sails? He now felt ashamed, petty and insignificant, about as small as an elf could possibly get. _How can I be so worried about a little embarrassment when this kid has no family, no home? _He looked into that sweet child's eyes and he saw all the hopes and dreams of his kid brother at that age, of himself back before he knew of the evil in the world. "Sure, kid. I'll tell him." And that was enough to made Dean's heart break… yet again.

"Sam, would you like some time with your brother? Why don't I take the kids shopping and let you off the hook for today?" Stevie offered.

"You sure? I'm sorry to bail on you like this, but you know, family… haven't seen them in a while."

"No problem, Sam. I'll see ya later. Nice to meet you, Dean." With that Stevie left with the kids and the brothers were alone.

"Ah, Dean, where's Dad?"

"Huh. Not here. Don't know, but I'm betting he's hiding out, trying to avoid getting caught by you."

"Like he really believes I'm not going to notice he's not here in the thick of things? That you'd be on a job alone?"

"Yeah, well that's Dad, fearless hunter and all."

"You know, Dean, I've sure missed you and I'd really like to catch up and all, but I gotta say, I'm having a hard time keeping a straight face looking at you in that getup."

"Yeah? Well, you should try living with it. You can't _imagine_ how embarrassing it is to use the public restroom."

"Yeah, thanks.., not exactly an image I'd like to picture."

"Tell me about it! People can be down right mean. This one guy, he… " Dean's eyes grew wide as he suddenly realized he was about to hand his brother more ammunition for the never-ending ridicule, "never mind."

"So Dean, what exactly is this job you and Dad are working?"

"Missing Santas."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Sam, _look at me_. Do I _look_ like I'm kidding? Do you honestly think Dad and I would be dressed in these ridiculous outfits if this wasn't a life or death situation?"

"I guess, but I haven't heard about any missing Santas. How'd you find out about it?"

"Caleb called."

Sam had the broadest smile when he was amused and the thought of Caleb also involved in this fiasco brought out a doozy. "Caleb's here? What's he dressed as? The Grinch?"

"No, but he should be, the bastard. He's gone, Sam. He suckered us into this job, dumped it in our laps and bailed. Said he had to go to Frisco or something." Dean waved off the thought with a flail of his hands.

"So have you found out anything yet?"

"Loads. Kids nowadays have no taste in music or movies. People are generally crazy. Moms find my butt irresistible. Your girlfriend loves my fucking calves and if angels get their wings every time a bell rings, then I just populated heaven with about a thousand angels. I think that about covers it."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"What?"

"She's not my girlfriend, just a friend."

"Whatever."

"So… you think Dad's gonna come back out?"

"He'll have to once lunch is over. The man _is_ Santa Claus."

"I can't believe it. I mean, the man never does costumes."

"Well, Sammy, some of us just put aside our own concerns and do the job. It's called dedication."

"You're right Dean. I'm proud of you, man." Then the uncontrollable, high-pitched laughter erupted again.

"Just shoot me now."

Sam sat with Dean there in the fake snow of the North Pole, waiting for the rest of the cast to finish their lunch and come back to work. A heavy silence hung in the air as the brothers found there wasn't much to talk about after Dean filled him in on their plan and what little info they had gathered on the disappearances.

They had many conversations that needed to be shared, but the atmosphere somehow seemed wrong. Those discussions seemed better suited to another time, another place, after they had solved this case and Dean was once more as he should be: a warrior in leather and denim, not an elf in bells and knickers.

As two o'clock approached Dean wandered back over to the employee lounge and sought out his dad, knowing John would be desperate to know if the coast was clear. _No problem, Dad. Sammy never even saw you. And that is __**not **__a lie; truth is he only heard you._

"Dean, where you been?"

"Taking my lunch break."

"Sammy bust you?"

Dean was in a disturbingly jovial mood; all things considered, one might think he was just resigned to the inevitable. "Ah, yeah! Kinda hard to miss me, Dad. Apparently, I am one _hot_ elf."

That comment warranted a concerned look from John. "What's got into you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe I just decided to embrace my inner elf." Wicked smirk now, not that he harbored any antagonism over his dad abandoning him to face Sammy's dismay on his own. _No…, that would be petty and wrong._

John's radar should have gone onto high alert, but he was too distracted to put one and one together, and come up with two brothers united to put one over on their dad.

"Remind me to get you checked out after this job. You might be suffering from stress."

"_Could be._ I mean, I _am_ dressed in a freaking elf costume working a job with Santa Claus. But then again, why would that be stressful?" Dean again offered up his trademark smirk.

John was tired of beating around the bush here, and he needed to know. "Is Sammy gone? Did he realize I'm here?"

"Dad, you afraid to face your own son?" Only a slight glimmer of a tease in Dean's voice, after all, he wasn't stupid.

"Just tell me, is he gone?"

Dean gave his dad a reassuring smile. "No worries, Dad. You're safe." Comforting words followed by a firm pat on the back.

Jeannie again gathered her troops together and sent them back into the fray with another winning slogan, "Remember the meaning of Christmas! Smile, people, smile!"

John made a quick scan of the area and when the coast appeared clear, he walked out to greet his fans. "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas." He walked up to his throne and sat down, smiling and waving and finally relaxing before he heard a familiar voice.

"You do make a damn fine Santa, Dad."

John glanced over at Dean who was grinning from ear to ear at the joke they had perpetrated on dear, old Dad. He then looked behind him to see his youngest son nestled behind the throne, sitting cross-legged on the fake snow, smiling broadly as the camera phone snapped a picture.

"Sammy, I can explain."

"I bet you can. What, the secret fetish is finally revealed? You always did seem to have a penchant for red."

"We're on a job. Didn't your brother explain that to you?"

"Dean said _he _was on a job, but you just like playing dress up and begged to tag along."

"Son of a bitch! Dean is going to pay." _Make mental note, Dean dies before twenty-third birthday. See to it!_

"But, he's _your_ _son."_

"Not any more."

"You seem to have a habit of disowning sons. Better watch that, you're going to run out."

"Sammy, about that… we were both mad, just let it go.., bygones?"

"Willing to forgive and forget? Huh, Dad? What could you possibly want in return?"

"Just hand over the phone."

"I didn't hear you. What did you say Dad?"

"Give me the damn phone!"

"Sure..., of course I've already sent the picture to Caleb and Pastor Jim and who else is it that's on your Christmas card list? Pictures really do say so much more than words. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Sam, you didn't?"

"Oh yeah, Dad. _I did_." Sam smiled a huge, toothy grin.

"What did I do to deserve you two?"

"Hmmm, let me get back to you on that."

"Sam, for whatever I may have done in my entire life, I am sorry. Now just give me the phone."

Sam couldn't resist one more. He brought up the phone and snapped a picture of his dad pleading with him for compassion, his hand outstretched, a sincere hopeful expression behind those adorable granny glasses. _Yep, that one goes in the scrapbook._ He then quickly folded the phone and shoved it back in his pocket.

"So Santa, you wanna hear what I want for Christmas?" Loud, high pitched cackle again. It was a good thing the roar of the waiting crowd drowned it out before it reached Jeannie.

"You gonna climb on my lap, son?" John sneered.

"Ohhh, _kinky, _Dad."

Sam stayed hidden behind the throne until the afternoon break. He was almost as relieved as the two older Winchesters when Jeannie whistled they would be stopping for fifteen. After two hours of sitting cross-legged on the ground he was stiff and sore. He had learned a lot in that time though; most surprisingly, how compassionate and heartwarming John appeared to these gullible children.

Once again he felt a twinge of what might have been; how in another life his dad might have been more of a touchy, feely kind of dad. How his and Dean's childhoods would have been so obviously different, if evil hadn't stalked them around every bend in the highway.

Strange but Sam found this newfound insight comforting somehow: acknowledging for the first time that his family wasn't as whacked out as he had once thought, realizing that perhaps circumstances shaped his family life more than any inherent aberration, accepting that maybe Dad had adapted to the life out of necessity instead of a deep seated desire to be a drill sergeant commanding a house full of soldiers. After a lifetime of resentment he was finally understanding Dad's point of view in all this.

Now that his family was back within his grasp, Sam was loathe to let them go, especially since they were on a job and in danger. A Winchester never retreats from a job, and regardless of what he had previously thought; when faced with his family in danger, Sam was a Winchester through and through.

He didn't wait for them to ask for help, he simply offered, "All right then. What do you need me to do?"

"You _want_ to help?" Dean questioned.

"Look, you said this was serious, of course I want to help."

"Well then, first off, I need to check if Jeannie has another elf outfit for a freakishly tall elf." Dean smirked.

Sam gulped; he hadn't counted on _that. _"You're not serious?"

"Like a heart attack." The look on Sam's face was even more panicked than the ones Dean and John had earlier exchanged over the same prospect. "What? You wimping out now? Not up for the real deal?"

"I was just thinking more along the lines of research. Figured you had the undercover work all taken care of."

'What's the matter Sammy? You just talk the talk, or are you willing to walk the walk?"

Sam grinned at that image. "You mean the elf walk?"

"Dude, that's a low blow. You try walking in these freaking elf shoes."

John silently grinned, his eyes glistening with joy. "Boys, it's nice to have you both together again."

Dean and Sam both stopped and looked at their dad, waiting for the punch line that never came. _Huh, serious sentiment there, Dad? What's up with that? Must be the Santa suit._

John then continued, "I think we have the undercover work under control. Sammy we _could _use some help with the research. After work why don't we stop by the library and the police station and see what info there is. See if we can pick out some sort of pattern."

"Sure, Dad. Whatever you need," Sam agreed, relieved he was needed for something other than donning an elf suit.

John then continued, "Let me see if the owner of the mall will let you look through the employment records while we finish out our shift. Maybe see if there are any disgruntled former employees that might be targeting the mall."

"Sounds good."

-------------------------------------------------------------

Dean was never as exhausted as he was after one day on the front lines of the North Pole Station, including the three day hunt through the back country chasing down that werewolf in Minnesota in '99. Every muscle in his body ached and his feet were killing him. He truly feared his toes would curl up and take on the configuration of those damn elf shoes. All he longed for now was a hot shower and a soft bed.

"Dad, you and Sammy got the whole research thing covered? I mean, you don't need me, right?"

"I think we can handle it. Long day?"

"Yeah, these freaking shoes are killing my feet. I think they're a size too small."

"You better rest up then. Got another big day tomorrow. Why don't we drop you off at the motel and then we can split up and cover it."

"Hmmm, hard day, huh, Dean? Kinda sounds like more of the usual to me. You always did find an excuse to avoid research," Sam kidded.

"Why should I waste my brain cells when I got geek boy here to burn up his?"

"Yeah, you don't want to risk losing what little you got."

"Ha, Ha, they teach you to be so hilarious at that fancy college or does it just come naturally?"

"All natural, dude!"

"Well then maybe you should try taking a class, 'cause your material's kinda lame."

"Boys…, can I reconsider my previous comment about having you back together? It was a lot more peaceful with just Dean on the road."

"Funny, but peaceful and Dean never seemed to go together before," Sam snarked back.

"Just drop me off and find out what the hell we're facing here. Tomorrow better be my last day at work, 'cause my feet aren't going to last much longer," Dean grimaced.

As soon as Dean was alone in the motel he set out to execute his plan. He set the brown paper sack he had carried home from work on the bed, opened it and pulled out his elf costume. He didn't have a lot of time and that damn costume had a hell of a lot of bells, so he quickly went to work.

He pulled out his Leatherman and pried open the first of the little bells adorning his costume. One by one he opened them up like he was performing surgery and clipped off the little clapper that hung inside. He then carefully reformed the bells so they again looked perfect to the unsuspecting eye. No one could ever tell the difference, except for the lack of sound they now produced. _Oh, yes, the Sounds of Silence._

He smiled a victorious smile of smug satisfaction. Take that Miss Jeannie. _Clap on…, clap off…._

TBC


	4. Blue Christmas

Chapter Four – Blue Christmas

For once fortune smiled on the Winchesters, although if you asked Dean it was more of a smirk; a smart-aleck, gotcha grin delighting in tormenting him by making him play the fool. Since school was out for Christmas break, Sam was now free to devote all his time to his family and this hunt, and that was just what Dean needed: his brother's constant mockery of his misery. _Yeah, right!_

Although Dean was relieved to have his family reunited for the Christmas holiday, he was still reeling from the circumstances. All he ever wanted was now within his grasp, yet all his thoughts remained fixed on the agony of this particular job instead of the joy of having his brother back in their lives. All his dreams would have been fulfilled if they were only on a respectable hunt, pitted against a powerful demon, a blood-thirsty poltergeist or a deadly vengeful spirit, not playing dress up at the North Pole. His mind appeared to only be capable of focusing on the negative: the humiliation, the shame, the overwhelming pain of this hunt, and no amount of family bonding time was going to erase that. _Especially the type of family bonding I can expect from my family!_

Sam stayed over at their motel so they could get an early start in the morning and it almost felt like old times again except the grating tension that had tainted all their interactions in the days before he left for college seemed to be on holiday too, replaced by the unmerciful teasing of the unfortunate older brother. John and Sam both seemed to be enjoying their time together and had consciously avoided any confrontations, determined to make the most of this new opportunity: more precisely, the joint opportunity to torment Dean. _I swear they never had a common purpose before; how come ragging on me is what brings them together?_

"So Dean, how's it feel to be an elf? You gain any new insight into the wee folk?" Sam teased.

Dean was poised and ready with a witty comeback, "Yeah, now I know why they hate the giants, Jolly Green."

"Ouch, that hurt." Sam laughed, impervious to Dean's feeble attempt to give as good as he got. "You know the ears really are the crowning touch, lucky you have that make-up artist helping out, huh?"

"Yeah, Sam. She's a real peach," Dean distractedly muttered.

Sam got a wicked look on his face then, barely able to retort, "Funny you should mention _fruit_."

Dean looked up then with an 'I can't believe you handed it to him on a silver platter' moan combined with the 'here it comes again' grimace on his face. He was trying desperately to hold on to his last shred of dignity, but he knew he was losing the battle under the constant barrage of comments Sam had been slinging his way since they left the mall. _Why don't you pick on Dad for a change? Why are you letting him off the hook? I mean, he __is__ Santa Claus, doesn't that warrant some disrespect?_

"Sam, have a little compassion for your brother. It's not his fault he makes such a damn fine elf." John grinned, joining in the 'lets pick on poor, pathetic Dean' Brigade. "Cheer up, son. I gave your number out to four or five moms today. They should be calling any time now."

Dean looked up with a desperate gaze, "What? Dad? You didn't?"

"Why not? Thought you were always looking for a good time."

"So now my own dad's pimping me out, as a call boy elf?"

"Damn, does that mean I was supposed to charge? Son, you gotta tell me these things," John chuckled. "Let me know what my cut is."

"Man, Dean, it must be those killer calves. Even in an elf suit, you're irresistible."

"Sam, enough with the killer calves. You're just jealous 'cause you got those scrawny chicken legs."

Sam looked contrite. "You're right, Dean. I _am_ jealous of elf boy." And then his high pitched cackle again filled the air.

Dean tried to offer up his smug grin as he taunted, "Your girlfriend likes me."

"First off, Dean, I told you, she's not my girlfriend and secondly, I hate to burst your fantasy bubble, but she is one major flake. She also loves SpongeBob SquarePants."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I think the imagery speaks for itself."

Dean suffered a silent moan before throwing out a feeble retort, "You know, come to think of it…, I _do _think you have a new career here. Why don't you go on over to the Comedy Store and let them rip your pathetic jokes apart? You're not half as funny as your sick mind thinks you are."

"Oh, I know. I'm not half as amusing as you… _in your little elf suit!"_

"That's it! I'm going to bed." Dean pulled the sheets down on his bed and stretched out, fed up with his brother's juvenile antics. "You girls just go ahead and amuse yourselves, but we've got a job to do. And unlike the rest of you, I'm a professional and I'm gonna save these Santas."

Sam took on a very solemn look, before uttering in awe, "Dean Winchester _saves _Christmas."

"Shut-up!" Dean growled.

----------------------------------------------------------------

As they prepared to leave the motel the next morning John noticed the brown paper sack Dean had clutched under his arm. (_You remember, the sack with his elf costume.)_

"Dean, what's in the sack?"

Dean's eyes darted around the room and returned to his dad with a quizzical expression. "What sack?"

"THAT sack. The brown paper sack under your arm."

"Oh, _that sack!"_ Dean grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Just a special surprise for Jeannie." _I'll show her that tinkling bells can't best a skilled hunter._

"A peace offering?"

"Not exactly."

_Uh-huh, his new best friend?!? Looks like the stress _is_ getting to him; better get that boy checked out after this job is over._

------------------------------------------------------

Sam still had employment records to dig through, and John and Dean had their own distasteful jobs to do. They separated and Santa and the elf pretenders went to their dressing rooms to embrace their inner elves by donning their outfits and getting into character.

After again transforming himself into elf boy, Dean emerged from his dressing room and ran smack into Jeannie. _Big shock! I think I have a stalker!_

"Well, good morning, Dean. Don't you look adorable? Aren't you just the sweetest thing?" Jeannie turned and started to walk away when she suddenly froze in her tracks. Ever so slowly she turned back, concern registering across her pixie face as she purposely walked back over to him. "Dean? Why aren't your bells tinkling?"

"What?"

"I said, _why.. aren't.. your.. bells.. tinkling?"_

"They're not? That's odd, I hadn't noticed." Dean offered up his most sincere, little boy lost look.

"No, they are _definitely _not." She reached up and yanked the bell hanging from the tassel of his hat. _Nothing. _"Oh, this is terrible. This can't be happening. This is a _disaster_." She grabbed the bells hanging from his hoodie and fervently shook them. Again, nothing. "I just don't understand. They were tinkling yesterday, weren't they?"

"Huh? Hmmm, can't say..., I didn't really notice."

She now looked upon him with suspicion. "Come now, Dean, you didn't _notice?"_

"I guess I was just so excited to see all the kids and you know.., first day jitters…. Wow, that _is _strange."

"Uh-huh." Then the schoolmarm voice came out, stern and disapproving, "Dean, be truthful here. Did you do anything to these bells?"

Years of practice now came into play. Dean might not be blessed with Sam's puppy dog eyes, but he had perfected his own wounded pride 'I can't believe you would think that of me' look that was _almost _as effective. _Face it, on someone like Jeannie.., it would do._

Deep emotion welled in his voice, "_Me? _Just what are you suggesting?" Sincere, hooded eyes, moist with tears gazed down upon her.

The guilt came almost instantly. "_Nothing_. I'm sorry, sweetie. Don't you fret. I just don't understand. I swear they were tinkling yesterday; I don't know what could have happened."

"Darn it all! I don't know, must be defective." Dean gave a little stomp of his elf foot to convey his utter horror at the situation.

"Oh dear, we're out of time. It's almost Showtime and you still need to get your ears on. Come by on the break and we'll check them all out. This is so unfair to you, hon. I just wish we had another outfit for you; someway to make this up to you."

"Gosh.., it _is_ so disappointing.., but don't you worry yourself about it. I mean.., it's not your fault, Jeannie. It's fine…._really_." Then Dean reached out and gently touched her arm, trying to find some way to comfort her.

"_**No, it's not!**_ You deserve bells that tinkle!" Deep, painful emotion registered in her voice as tears welled in her eyes. "You were just the perfect elf before this had to happen. This is TOO MUCH! You shouldn't have to suffer like this. I can't believe this is happening on top of all the Santas disappearing. I just don't know how much more I can take. This is just _so_ unfair." She wiped the tears from her eyes and looked up into Dean's eyes then, a renewed determination possessing her face. "Sweetie, you leave this outfit with me tonight and I will personally replace all these bells."

Dean was _good.., damn good. _He gave her the most convincing, sweet, touching, adorable gaze, before offering up a heartfelt reply, "Will do… Jeannie, you're the _best_." He then laid his most sincere smile on her before bidding her goodbye.

He walked down the long hallway towards his doom muttering under his breath.

_You touch my freaking bells and I will personally stuff them where the sun doesn't shine, I swear to God! And if I am cursed to come back tomorrow, I __**know**__ these damn shoes are going to simply fall apart of their own accord._

Dean now walked with more bounce in his step, a walk no longer hampered by the tinkling of tiny bells. He suddenly possessed more confidence; just a tad shy of the previous day's humiliation. He could now do his job without compromising his integrity, no longer announcing every action from ten feet away. He had conquered the bells; he was once more a _man_ on a mission… bye, bye elfie! His newfound outlook lasted maybe thirty seconds before one of his elf shoes slipped on the slick linoleum and he gazed down upon the pointy toe and was slammed back to reality.

_God, you are __**so **__delusional, dude! You're still wearing a freaking elf costume!_

Still, as a hunter, he had learned a long time ago to take the victories, however small and seemingly inconsequential, when and where you could. This was one small victory for Dean Winchester, and at this point, cursed with another day on the job dressed as an elf, he readily accepted it. _So long, Tinker Bell._

The look of smug satisfaction for accomplishing this small feat embraced his face and made him smile for just a moment…, a much needed moment. _Take that Clarence. No more angel wings from me today. You've reached your quota._

------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Sam had checked out all the employees who were terminated in the last year and come up with only two who would have grudges against the mall. He took the Impala and checked out the one that was still in town, the other having moved to Alaska. The man seemed a bit odd, but there was nothing to indicate he was perpetrating these Santa-nappings. And then there was the little problem of an airtight alibi; he couldn't possibly have been involved with the last two disappearances. _Back to square one._

He returned to the mall just in time to spend a half-hour watching his brother and dad performing their duties, still finding the whole situation immensely amusing.

"Alright, next. What do you want, kid?"

"Bratz doll."

"Come again?"

"A Bratz doll."

Dean snickered, "You want a brat or you are a brat? Which is it, kid?"

"I want a Bratz _doll_."

"Alrighty, a doll. Like a Barbie?"

"No, a Bratz."

"Look kid, you're the brat here. I guess you'll take what you get? Right?"

The dad then stepped forward. "It's a _type_ of doll, the next new thing, replaces the Barbie. I thought you people were supposed to know your toys?"

_Don't insult the elf, dude._ Dean checked out the guy: middle-aged, no wife nearby, interested in what his daughter wanted for Christmas, _yeah I know your kind_. "Let me guess, divorced Dad? Bet you never knew what the kid wanted before, did ya? Bet Mom always did all the shopping, huh? Don't guess you're in any position to cast stones, are you, buster?"

"At least I'm not wearing a stupid elf suit."

_You're facing off against the wrong elf here, jerk._ Dean was in no mood to take this freaking loser's grief. He stood up to his full height and towered over the smaller man. "Yeah, well this may be a stupid elf suit, but I get to take it off at the end of the day. You're the jerk that's stuck with stupid. Ain't that right, Dopey? Move along… **now**."

The man quickly scooted his daughter up towards Santa as Dean continued to mutter, "Stupid dwarf."

The next little boy hesitantly wandered up and shyly looked up at Dean. "What?" Dean barked as he turned back; before he realized the kid was scared to death.

"I…I.. want an Interactive Educational Game," the kid started to explain.

Dean looked over at his stage-mother mom, coaxing him from the sidelines, mouthing the words along with her son. "No, you don't.., do ya?" Dean asked in a tender voice, as sad eyes gazed up at him.

"Yes.., I..I… d..d..do..." he stammered.

"Naw, _you don't_. Come on now, spill. You know..," Dean leaned in and whispered, "you're not allowed to lie to Santa. You _have _to tell the truth. You better come clean, kid. What do you _really_ want?"

"I…I….w..w..want…."

Dean gave the kid a wink. "Kid, trust me. It's Christmas, you get to ask for what you really want. Them's the rules."

"I want a G.I. Joe Artic Adventure playset," he finally blurted out, nervously glancing back at his Nazi mom.

"_Alright,_ _dude!_ High five!" Dean gave the kid an approving smile as he raised up his hand and high fived the kid. "That's more like it. You go tell Santa."

As the mom walked past Dean, he looked her directly in the eyes with his most menacing glare. His voice was clear and concise, "G.I. Joe Artic Adventure playset. And Mom, it better be under the tree, we clear on that? Or Uncle Vito is going be paying you a visit? _Capice?"_

Dean smiled smugly to himself; maybe this gig wasn't quite as bad as he thought. He'd just made one kid's Christmas special and that didn't make him feel too bad. Not too bad at all, actually. _Maybe I'm on a roll now._

He offered up a big smile to the next kid then, finally delighting in one aspect of this gig. "Okay, kid, you know what you want for Christmas?"

"I want an elf… "

Dean grimaced for the hundredth time this morning, tumbling back into the dread of the job. _Should have known the warm fuzzies wasn't gonna last_. "Yeah, they all want the elf. Sorry, he's not available. He does have standards, you know. You're a little young; come see me in ten years."

"What?"

"I'm too old for you, kid. Maybe you should go for that kid, what's his name..? Aaron something or other. Maybe ask for a photo or something, send away to the fan club for an autograph, whatever it is you fangirls do." _Just.. leave.. me.. alone._

"I want a doll, an elf doll."

"Look, kid, I said _no._ I know I'm in this stupid elf costume, but I still demand respect, you hear me, kid? This elf isn't coming down your chimney on Christmas, so just give it up. Pick something else, 'cause the elf's unavailable."

"Mommy, he's not very nice."

"I think you misunderstood my daughter. She wants the Legolas doll from Lord of the Rings."

"The movie? They have _dolls?"_

"Of course."

"Really??? All righty then, just go on up to Santa and tell him." _Crass commercialization, mighta known._

Dean then jerked forward again as the mom pinched his butt. _Son of a bitch! I'm gonna be black and blue from this gig. Why can't they keep their freaking hands off my butt?_

"I believe I'm old enough for you, young man."

Dean considered it…, for all of half a nanosecond! She was actually quite an attractive older woman and she had a fire in her eyes that indicated she had experience and was just the kind of frisky woman that could make the night exhausting and memorable. _My own personal Mrs. Robinson..._ Under different circumstances, without a hundred gawking kids staring at him, _if I wasn't wearing a freaking elf costume_, he might be grabbing hold of this opportunity. Except…

Problem was he just wasn't in the mood. _**Not in the mood?!?!**_ _Urgh, Dean Winchester not in the mood? Oh, God! This is how it starts. Oh., God.! This can't be happening… Oh.., my.., God..! I'm only twenty-two! I am going to freaking __**kill **__Caleb!_

She continued on suggestively, "I'm free later this evening…, _bring the elf suit_."

_Okay, that does it!_ Dean shuddered at the thought. "Lady, this elf has standards, and you're dreaming if you think my bells are going to rock your bed." He gave her his patented 'get the hell away from me' stare and tried out his Jedi mind control, _this is not the elf you are looking for, move along._

_Bring the elf suit? Bring the freaking elf suit!?! Should have realized she had to be kinky, which by the way can actually be quite good, __**but**__, picking up an elf at the North Pole!?! Too kinky even for me. I can't respect anyone who would proposition an elf at the North Pole. This is the final humiliation. I have __got__ to get my own identity back, and soon! I need my leather jacket._

Dean solemnly motioned the next kid to step forward and was just about to engage in his spiel when the previous 'elf doll' girl stepped back into his line of vision.

"What, kid? You're going the wrong way."

She stared up at him and softly asked, "Where's Santa?"

_Gulp! No, no, no… nooooo…. this can't be happening. This cannot be freaking happening! Oh, hell! Dad, you're too experienced for this. If this is one of your sick jokes, I am going to kill you!_

"Dad? **Dad!?!** Where are you?" Dean was standing right at Santa's throne and it was now empty, no sign that Santa was ever there, no sign of a struggle, no indication of how the hell he could have disappeared right off the face of the freaking planet. _Damn it!_

"Anyone see Santa? Huh? Anyone see him disappear? What's the matter with you people? Are you all _**blind?**__"_ Dean was yelling now. He was met by a solid wall of blank stares, a distinct uneasiness in their faces as they witnessed an elf going berserk.

Sam heard the panic in Dean's voice and looked up to see his brother running around like an elf hyped up on crack. The wild, crazed look in his eyes seemed to fit in so well with the outfit. He resembled one of those manic cartoon characters bouncing off the walls and self-destructing to amuse the rug-rats on Saturday morning TV. Sam silently wondered if Dean would have been more composed if he had been in his standard hunter gear. The normally calm, cool and collected Dean Winchester was frantic, and it was _not _a pretty sight. Sam raced past the waiting children and was soon at his unhinged brother's side.

"Dean, calm down. What happened?"

Dean rubbed his hand down his face, his eyes conveying his terror. "Man, I don't know, he was there one minute and then he was just gone. Vanished into thin air! Damn it! I only took my eyes off him for a minute. How the hell are they snatching them up like that? Did you see anything?"

"No. I just heard you screaming and saw he was gone. You sure he didn't just go to the restroom?"

Dean stared at his brother in disbelief, seconds ticked by while he contemplated the utter stupidity of that statement. "Great idea there, Sam. Why don't you go check out the john for John?"

"Dean, relax. We'll find him, we always do."

"Sonofabitch!"

"Dean, you were right there. How could you not see or hear anything? I mean, I'm sure Dad would struggle, make some noise. You didn't hear anything?"

"Nothing."

"Well, great plan Caleb had. Lot of good it did to have you right there on the inside."

"Can we focus here, college boy, or you wanna sling arrows all day?"

"Ah, that's Valentine's Day there, gotta keep your holidays straight."

_Oh, no. Here comes the death stare. Calm down, big brother. Breathe. Just chill out._

Jeannie was now standing before them, agitated and hyper, which didn't help Dean's mood. "Not again! Oh, my, who is doing this? Are they trying to ruin Christmas?"

Dean was pacing back and forth, trying to focus his thoughts. "Look, Jeannie, we need to clear everyone out. My brother and I need to go over this scene and figure out what happened, all right?"

"Sure, hon. You know your dad was the best Santa we ever had, really _lived_ the part. This is just so tragic." She reached over and patted his arm with the most pitiful look of sorrow on her face. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"He's not _dead_. Don't talk about him in the past tense. He's coming back. _I'm bringing him back!"_ Dean was fierce when he was protecting his family, the look in his eyes reinforcing his words, determination evident in every movement of his elf body. The tassel on his little elf hat swinging like the pendulum in a grandfather clock, ticking down the minutes until he got his dad back.

-------------------------------------------------------

"Dean, we've been over every square inch of this place. There's nothing."

"We must have overlooked it. There has to be something. Five Santas can't just disappear without a trace."

"What now? What would Dad do?"

"Man, I don't know. What if we don't find him? What if… "

"Dean, don't. We'll find him. We will."

Sam had never seen Dean look so lost… so scared… and that was enough to put the fear of certain doom in him. It was just so uncharacteristic to see Dean like this. _Yeah, I know the whole elf getup took some getting used to… but this? This was downright surreal._

Then a transformation came over Dean. It was like an iron curtain clanked down, securing his emotions behind an impenetrable wall again. As quickly as the panic had consumed him, it was cast aside. His face took on all the determination of a man on a mission, of a man that would not be denied.

"We need to focus. I need to see the blueprints of the mall. Come on." Dean took off with a purposeful walk, and that was a sight to behold. A bold and determined elf traipsing down the mall common area with the soft pitter patter of elf shoes on the shiny linoleum. Sam suddenly realized his bells weren't tinkling.

"Dean, what happened to your bells?"

_Oops, here comes the death stare again. Touchy!_

At the mall management office where Sam had previously gone over the personnel records, they explained the circumstances of the last disappearance and secured the blueprints.

"Sam, did you check out the history of the mall and the land it was built on?"

"Yeah, nothing. No previous disappearances, no indications of anything supernatural."

"Well, something is going on here, that's for sure."

"But what?"

"I don't know, but I'm gonna find out. That's why they're paying me the big bucks."

"Big bucks?"

Dean proudly grinned then. "Yeah, the rest of the elves are getting six bucks an hour. Dad and I negotiated ten bucks."

"Well…, glad to see you're not selling yourself short," Sam snickered.

Dean gave him his 'that really hurt, can't you let me take any joy in this' look then. "Hey, just remember college boy, you can't price yourself out of the market. This _is _the mall, not one of Trump's casinos."

"So is Trump hiring elves now? This might be the big career move you were hoping for."

"Sam, Dad's missing. Maybe we should focus on that and leave the career counseling for later. You think?"

"Touchy."

TBC


	5. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Chapter Five – Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Dean was pacing back and forth, his little elf shoes trying to wear a path through the linoleum. "So you checked out all the fired employees and came up empty?"

"Yeah, most everyone ended up in a better situation after they left here, which in reality isn't that hard to accomplish. Retail's not exactly the best job, especially this time of year. Most were happy to leave the life behind them and get a _real_ _life_. Only had the one lead and that didn't pan out."

"Yeah, it's kinda like our job. Not too high on the best jobs on the planet list, huh? It's a dirty job, but somebody's got to do it. I'm guessing the hours and the benefits stink, and I know the pay sucks," Dean agreed. His fertile mind soon latched onto a new possibility as he excitedly asked, "Hey, what about people who applied for work and were turned down?"

"You mean the people who were denied the sterling opportunity to sell socks to the masses? You're thinking a crazed fool who wanted to deal with all the harried, ill-tempered shoppers might just want to get even for being denied their chance?" Sam mused.

"Well, it takes all kinds. Maybe some idiot actually wanted to become a slave to the commercialization of the country. You know, just felt an overwhelming need to join in the selling of America."

"Kinda cynical there, Dean. You have a gripe with corporate America?"

"Just don't see the whole point in 'shop 'til you drop'. Last place I want to be any given day of the week is the mall."

"It's worth a look. Let me see what I can come up with."

"Okay, you start on that, I'm gonna head on back and see what's happening at the North Pole."

-------------------------------------------------------------------

As Dean rounded the corner he was shocked to see a long line of children waiting to see the next, _new_ Santa. _What the hell?_

"Jeannie, what's going on? You got a new Santa already?"

"Oh, Dean, you know your father can _never _be replaced. I mean, he _was _Santa, but oh well…, life goes on," she explained in her chipper voice.

"Apparently," Dean grimaced. "So you're just going to offer up another Santa? Risk another one disappearing? Why don't you just put him on a sacrificial slab and say come 'n get 'em? I mean, _come on_. Does he _know_ the danger he's in?"

"Sure does. Tough negotiator. Hector squeezed us for fifteen bucks an hour, but whatcha gonna do? We were a little desperate at this point." Then Jeannie leaned in and whispered, "Almost had to call the green guy."

Dean's eyebrows arched as he mouthed the words before his voice found him and he uttered the question, "The green guy?"

"Strange man, wouldn't take no for an answer. Really built like a Santa, woulda been perfect, except for… you know… "

"No, Jeannie, I don't know. What do you mean 'green guy', like inexperienced?"

"Oh, no, we would never discriminate for that, most of our workers are inexperienced. We can train them, that's not a problem," and then she winked, "not like you have to be a rocket scientist to work at the North Pole, huh?"

_Obviously. Just look at you, Jeannie. You're certainly one Twinkie short of a full box._

"Just what are you talking about? You mean you've had a guy trying all this time to be Santa and you just forgot to mention it?" Dean offered up his most perplexed expression, his eyebrows arching over quizzical eyes. "What's the matter with you?"

The schoolmarm voice then returned with a vengeance. "Dean, I don't like your tone. Remember, elves are happy and gay."

"Screw that," Dean growled. "What's with this guy? Why didn't you hire him?"

"I told you, he was green."

"Come again?"

"_Green…_, like the Green Hornet, the Green Lantern, the Jolly Green Giant… like Jiminy Cricket, only big, _really_ big. That part would have been to his benefit, we wouldn't have needed any padding."

Dean was still trying to comprehend the ramblings of Jeannie, not that she was insane, but…_ are you freaking insane!?!_

He calmed down enough to slowly enunciate his words, sure if he spoke in deliberate, simple words, she just might comprehend and respond back with a logical answer.

"You mean he wore green?"

"No, Dean, are you _listening?_ He _was _green. I know it's one of the primary colors of Christmas, but still, the children wouldn't understand. And what would the parents think? We'd be the laughing stock of the Christmas scene. We have a certain image to maintain."

Dean was exasperated with this conversation. "Jeannie, you got a name?"

"A name? Let me see… no, I can't quite…, maybe it was… no, that wasn't it.., but I know it was short… I think he only had one name…, a strange name too. Oh well, I can't remember…, his application would be in the office."

"When did he come in?"

"Oh…, I don't know, a few weeks ago maybe."

_Duh.…_"Like, maybe right before the first Santa disappeared?"

"How'd you know? Yes, I remember now. The day after we turned him down for the last time the first Santa disappeared."

"Great!" Dean was exhausted from the conversation, let alone the hunt he now needed to engage in.

He flicked open his phone and speed dialed Sam. "Sam, seems like we had a persistent Santa applicant who was turned down for the job the day before the first disappearance."

"You got a name?"

"No, but I've got a description."

"Well, that's gonna make it harder, but give me what you got. I'll see if I can spot his application."

"Yeah, well this one should kinda stand out."

"Why?"

"Well, you're not gonna believe me", and Dean hesitated, not believing he was even going to say the words, but _what the hell_, "it appears the guy was green."

"What did you say? The phone must have cut out. It sounded like you said the guy was green."

"Exactly! Think you might be able to find his app? Hey, maybe he sent in his resume in color too."

"You're talking the color green…, like the _Grinch?_ Dean are you serious?" Sam's voice was filled with childlike wonder, just considering the possibility.

"Hmmm… am I serious? Let's recap. Five Santas are missing. _Dad's _missing. I'm dressed as a freaking elf. My best buddy, Jeannie, just informed me a big, ol' green guy's been trying to play Santa and I'm just joking around 'cause, hell… that's what I do."

"Dean, settle down. It's just so… "

"Believe me, _I know_."

"So, you really think it could be him?"

"Him who?"

"The Grinch."

"That's a cartoon, Sam, not real."

"Dean, how many things have we witnessed that weren't supposed to exist? You said he was green, who else could it be?"

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe someone who ate too many green beans. Ohhhh…, I know, maybe it's the Hulk? He's big and green."

"Yeah, and another cartoon character."

"Not always, that Lou _whatever_ was a real guy, remember… a bodybuilder, I think. They just sprayed him with green paint or something."

"Still, Dean, a TV show. You really think a green Hulk is out there kidnapping Santas?"

"I don't know, but if you're willing to suspend belief, and considering some of the shit we've seen, maybe… It could be lots of creatures, I mean, green seems to be a very popular color. Ohhh, how about the wicked witch, she was green… but no, that wouldn't work, she was a she. Hmmmm, how about those monkeys? Weren't they green? or was it blue?" Dean was on a roll now, finding a perverse humor in their situation, and Sam knew if he didn't shut him up they might be here all night.

"Dean, enough. You really think the culprit is green?"

"Well, someone's snatching these Santas and so far that's the only lead we've got. Just see what you can come up with, I'm gonna hang around here and keep an eye on the new Santa."

"They have a new Santa already?"

"Yeah, apparently as memorable as Dad was, he's hardly irreplaceable. Remember that, Sam; everyone can be replaced in corporate America."

------------------------------------------------------------------

As Dean observed the new Santa, it occurred to him that this guy really couldn't hold a candle to his dad. _Man.., Dad, you really nailed the Santa role. I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. _

Being dressed as an elf seemed to have its drawbacks, aside from the obvious, especially hanging around the North Pole. Every kid who wandered by wanted to bare their soul and relay their wishes to him assuming he had a close, personal relationship with the big guy: the maker of dreams and the bringer of the big, fancy packages. He had a hard time convincing them he was off duty, so trying to blend in with the crowd was becoming increasingly difficult. As he made his way toward the back he noticed a nerdy, timid looking guy with a sketch pad, nervously drawing but constantly looking all around, anxious and _suspicious. _Dean wasn't sure what it was about him, but his instincts honed in on the guy, sensing something amiss.

He maneuvered behind the guy and stole a peek at the drawing on his sketch pad. _What the heck? _He had a cartoon image of the throne almost completed, with a few surrounding elements to complete the picture of the North Pole. Suddenly he looked up and noticed Dean watching him. He casually folded over the cover of his sketch pad and stood up.

Dean had already flicked open his phone and was just getting Sam on the other end. "Sam, I've got a suspicious guy here, a strange nerdy geek with a sketch pad."

There was a long pause as Sam responded, "Gosh, Dean, that's fascinating, but not exactly criminal. Ah, is he green?"

Dean urgently continued, "Well, no. Look, smartass, you gotta trust my instincts on this. Something's not right," and then he whispered, "He's drawing the North Pole and Santa's throne. I just have a feeling… "

And then the suspect took off running. "He's running," Dean yelled into the phone. "He's headed toward the north exit. I'm after him; see if you can cut him off."

Dean tried to run, but his freaking elf shoes were not made for running. He wasn't sure exactly what they were made for aside from embarrassment, but they were _definitely _not made for running. Still, he tried. He took off after the suspect and was actually keeping up with him until a baby stroller appeared out of nowhere blocking his path. He spun around in a wild frenzy, his freaky elf shoes slipping and sliding on the slick waxed floor, arms and legs flailing out of control. He skidded across the floor headed straight for a cement ash tray, struggling desperately to not crash and burn. He tried for enough traction to lift off and jump over the cement obstacle and he almost made it, but the tip of his shoe caught at the top and he took a hard tumble across the mall floor.

The many witnesses to his downfall only saw a blur of green and purple as he rolled end over end, the hard floor connecting brutally against his unprotected body with every jarring bounce he took. He came to rest sprawled spread-eagle under the sunroof of the mall as curious onlookers gathered around him gawking at the bizarre sight.

"Mommy, why's he dressed so strange?"

"Don't look, honey. Just ignore him."

_Yeah, lady. Just ignore me 'cause I'm so easy to ignore in this getup._

Every part of his body ached, including his pride, as he lay there trying to catch his breath, praying he could just close his eyes and disappear from this purgatory he was trapped in. He briefly considered clicking his heels together three times and wishing he could go home again, but then he remembered he had no home, and he further remembered that was the Wizard of Oz. _Sorry, Auntie Em, just a story, not real. Like this nightmare is real?_

"Excuse me, you lost your hat." An elderly woman was standing over him, his little elf hat dangling from her hand before it dropped abruptly on his chest. "Might want to check your bells there, sonny. They seem defective."

_Yeah, thanks, granny._

He closed his eyes again, trying to sink into the comfort of the black void within, only to be disturbed when his phone rang, merrily playing Jingle Bells. _Damn it! I swear to God, I'm gonna kill him. I should have known not to let Sam have my phone for two hours back at the North Pole. Sure, he got some great pics of Santa, but what the hell else did he do to it?_

He reached in his little elf pocket and retrieved it, flipped it open and saw it was Sam calling. He briefly considered if he was up to talking to his brother and admitting he lost the suspect or whether he just wanted to lay here basking in the glory of being a total fucked up failure. He even considered raking his brother over the coals for messing with his phone, but he knew that was a waste of good energy, energy that at this point in time he was sorely lacking. _I'll collect payback later. It will come swift and painful and totally unexpected. After all, that is the Winchester way._

He hit the send button and dejectedly responded, "Yeah."

"Where are you? What happened? I picked up the suspect leaving the mall; I'm in the car following him down University Avenue."

"I had a little mishap."

"What happened?"

"**I had a little mishap!"**

"You all right?"

"Define 'all right'."

"You hurt?"

"Just my pride, but then again, seems I lost all pride when I put on this freaking elf suit. So, no, I guess I'm not any more hurt than I was this morning."

"Alright then, you coming?" Sam was being quite insistent.

"_What?"_

"You coming? We need to check out this guy. Oh, he just pulled over at a Starbucks."

"Sam, you have the car. Just how am I supposed to get there?"

"Call a cab."

"WHAT? Are you kidding me?" Desperation and defeat was evident in Dean's voice.

"Dean, just get your butt over here. I can't come get you and risk losing this guy. Whatever you have to do, just get here."

Dean slowly sat up, awkwardly shifting his body to relieve the pains in his lower back and shoulders, and _man,_ _my butt hurts even more than before;_ silently admitting the pain of his wounded pride would probably never go away. He rubbed his hand absently down his face, his eyes displaying his consuming anguish. _Man, I'm tired. Tired of this stupid job. Tired over worrying about Dad, and tired of wearing this stupid, stupid elf outfit. Dad has the right idea, no more costumes!_

With a sigh, he decided to do his job, _as expected, like always_. "Hold on, all right, give me the address. I'll be there as soon as I can."

He picked himself up off the floor and tried to shake off his physical aches and pains, lamenting his emotional pain was a lost cause. He tucked his stupid elf hat into the pocket of his hoodie and gingerly headed toward the exit.

As soon as he reached the exit of the mall he asked directions from a distinguished looking elderly gentleman, ignoring the snickers from the cool teens hanging around the mall. _Yeah, I remember when I was one of the cool guys. _He was instructed he needed to take University Avenue south about ten blocks. Too far to walk or run, _run in these freaking shoes!?! Yeah, already tried that and see what it got me! _Just as he was debating his options, wondering how long it would take to get a cab, he spied a bus that said University Avenue that was headed south. _Yahtzee!_

Not thinking further than getting on the bus, he raced over and climbed the steps only to be faced with a sign proclaiming, "Correct change only". He stopped dead in his tracks. _Shit!_ _What was I thinking? I don't have __any__ money on me. _

There had been a few desperate times previously in his life when he was forced to resort to panhandling, and he hated it, _with a passion._

Once when he was twelve, he and Sammy had been stranded several miles from their motel with no money for the bus. Long story short, he made Sammy utilize his puppy dog eyes and they had the spare change to hop the bus almost immediately. Trouble was Sammy wasn't here and Dean _really_ hated begging, always had. It was so undignified… _like wearing an elf outfit is dignified?_ _Get over it!_ He stood there for a minute contemplating his next move, regretting the inevitable.

_I mean, I'm dressed in an elf costume, how much more degrading could it be to ask someone if they could spare some loose change? Besides, you're bound to get the pity change; or even better, the 'get the hell away from me you freak' quarter thrown at you. Oh yeah, good times!_

Before he could steel his mind to his unfortunate task and grovel for his first dime, he heard a strangely familiar voice behind him, "Hey buddy, let me get that for you. Two, Mr. Driver." A hand moved past him and handed the driver a twenty dollar bill. "Keep the change."

"Thanks, I must have left my wallet… " Dean was turning to look at his benefactor when his jaw hit the ground. "You're… "

"Shhhh. I'm traveling _incognito_. I know how it goes though. I don't usually carry any money. I have accountants pay for it all."

Dean donned a huge grin. "Good one. Man, I _love _your music."

"Thanks, man."

The bus driver was getting impatient with Dean's lollygagging and shot him a 'move it along' look, along with the 'freaks come out in full force on my shift' look. _Yes siree, mighty talented bus driver, should have been in the movies, that is, the silent movies!_

Dean grinned with a twinge of embarrassment and proceeded down the aisle of the bus and found a window seat midway back. His benefactor followed and motioned to the empty seat beside him.

"You mind?"

Dean was almost speechless which in itself was quite a sight to see, nevermind his elf costume and flabbergasted expression. "Sure." As he sat down Dean couldn't resist asking rather incredulously, "You ride the bus?"

"Sometimes it feels like I live on the bus when we're touring." He grinned as he continued, "I don't normally ride the city bus, but I lost my license and now I don't drive. And then I up and lost my driver and car somewhere last night." He then snickered as his eyes danced and he winked, "I hear I have a mansion, they tell me it's nice… I thought I'd check it out, _if _I can ever find it."

Dean grinned at that. "Man, I gotta tell you, I'm a _huge_ fan. Great guitar work, top notch."

"Thanks, dude. Love the outfit."

Dean now felt like a fool. Here he was sitting next to one of the greatest guitarists in rock and he was wearing a freaking elf costume, _talk about humiliation!_ And now to just make his freaking day, the legend was making fun of him. _Could this day get any worse?_

"Look, I don't normally dress like this," Dean stated defensively as nervous laughter spilled into his words. _Man, I am such a loser. Why do I have to meet him dressed like an idiot?_

"Too bad. Bitchin' outfit. Where'd you get it? Love those shoes."

"You serious?"

He laughed then, open and sincere, "As a heartache tonight."

"You're not pulling my leg..? poking fun…? having the last laugh? You honestly _like _this outfit?" And then by way of explanation, Dean continued, stating the obvious, "It's an elf costume. If I wasn't on a job and had to wear it, I wouldn't be caught dead in this outfit."

"Hmmm, too bad. Cool outfit, dude. Yeah, I really like it."

"Are you for real?"

"S'far as I know."

"Like, you would actually wear something like this?"

"Absolutely. Dude…, have you _seen_ some of the outfits I wear on stage?"

Dean thought about it and realized that yeah, his elf costume was similar to some of the outfits he'd seen his new friend wear in his performances. In fact, he seemed to recall these exact same striped socks. _Now that was freaky_.

"So, buddy, what's your name?"

"Dean."

"Well, Dean, the way I see it, life's too whacked out to take seriously. You need to just loosen up and have a little fun, just take it to the limit. That's my motto. Trust me, it works. People tell me I'm crazy, but I have a good time."

Dean felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he sat there with his obviously mellow rock idol. His moment of bliss was short-lived when a random thought crossed his mind and he arched his brows in a quizzical look as he considered another possibility.

"You're not stoned or anything, are you?"

"Not anymore. Spent about twenty years under the influence. I gotta tell ya, life in the fast lane will take its toll, man. Then all you're left with is wasted time. Now I get high on life," and then he laughed again, "the Rocky Mountain way! All natural, man."

"Yeah." Dean reconsidered his outlook and realized being an elf temporarily wasn't the end of the world. Hell, there were lots of worse gigs out there, he was sure of it, although he wasn't quite sure what they were; but still, overall, life was good. He suddenly felt a peaceful, easy feeling come over him. "I'm really glad I ran into you. You put a whole new spin on this elf gig."

"Hey, glad I could help. You know, life's been good to me so far."

"Look, my brother is never gonna believe I ran into you." Dean was fingering his cell phone nervously, "Would you mind if I snapped a picture?"

"Man, I'd be honored, but let's get one together. I want a pic of your outfit there, see if my tailor can whip me up one. But you know, you really need a hat."

Dean grinned as he reached inside his hoodie and pulled out the hat. "_Actually_, there is a hat."

"Cool. Can I wear it?"

"Uh, sure." Dean was a little hesitant to have irrefutable evidence of him being an elf, but he knew it was a small price to pay to prove to the world he had met his idol, _besides being an elf is apparently a pretty cool gig_. "You have a camera?"

"I thought you did?"

"Well, yeah, I have my camera phone, but how am I gonna get a pic to you?"

"Yeah, right. I have one of those, just not on me. Tell you what, we get someone to take the picture and you just send it to my phone."

Dean was more than a little shocked. "You're giving me your phone number?"

His new friend looked at him slyly, sizing him up. His eyes observing him from elf toe to top. "Why not? You're not some weirdo stalker or something? Are you? I mean, you look pretty normal to me, or am I missing something? How else would I get the picture?"

_Alright, I'll admit it, I am in shock. Not only do I meet a rock legend, but he's giving me his phone number? Someone pinch me.., no, no, no.., been there, done that!_

"No, not a stalker, not hardly. Yeah, just your normal, average guy, that's me. No problem, man, you can trust me," Dean assured him.

"See, that's what I thought. I'm a good judge of character, always have been." He turned to the preppy seated behind them, "Excuse me, mister, would you mind snapping a photo of me and my friend here?"

_This must be a freaking dream, I mean, there is no freaking way! I just run into him on a bus and then he calls me his friend, not even his elf friend? Awesome!_

The man agreed and Dean and his new friend, wearing the elf hat, had their picture taken. Dean programmed the cell number immediately into his phone and sent the picture. _Possibly my most valuable number, unless you count that aerobics instructor in Miami. Man, she was hot! And limber!_

"Hey, there's my driver, gotta go." He pointed out the window to a limo with a chauffeur standing alongside it.

"Thanks, Joe. Hey.., take it easy." Dean grinned.

"Awesome. Later, my elf friend." And then he smiled. "I'm already gone." He gave a smooth swoosh of his hand like a surfer riding the big wave and was gone.

_He called me his elf friend, and made it sound like it was a good thing. Hmmm, maybe being an elf really isn't so bad after all. Sammy is never going to believe this…, except I have proof. _

A few more blocks and he spied his beloved Impala parked on the street in front of a Starbucks. He hopped off the bus and was soon safe and snug inside his baby.

"So, Sammy, whatcha got?"

"He's inside. Went in about ten minutes ago."

"You sure it's him?"

"How many weird, nerdy guys hang out at the mall with sketch pads?"

"Okay then, let's go." Dean's voice had the old, familiar, raring-to-go tone to it.

"**What?** You're going in dressed like _that?"_

"What's wrong with the way I'm dressed? My underwear showing? You know _that is_ the new fashion statement," Dean smugly replied.

"Dean, you're dressed as an _elf_. Shouldn't you stay in the car and let me handle this?"

"What? You ashamed of me? Embarrassed to be seen with big brother? That _hurts_, Sammy. Really hurts."

"I just figured you'd want to lay low in that outfit."

"Sammy, it's like this. You need to loosen up and enjoy life a little. This could be Heaven or this could be Hell; it's all how you choose to look at it. We're in California now, dude; just take it easy."

Sam silently stared at his brother for a moment, shocked by his calm and confidence while still trapped in an elf costume. Suddenly he wondered if Dad was right and the stress was wearing on Dean more than any of them realized. He decided to put his concerns on hold and just keep close tabs on his brother. If he started to freak out or suffer a meltdown he wanted to be close by to insure damage control. After all, that's the least he could do for his big brother.

Following Dean's lead he stepped out of the car and walked towards the Starbucks. He couldn't resist one more comment, "You mind telling me what you did with my brother?"

"Life's too short to sweat the small stuff. Gotta just let it go, Sammy. In the long run, nobody will even care. Every so often you just gotta say, 'What the fuck!'".

Now it was Sam's turn to grin. "Yeah, I see what you mean, this is a risky business."

"See there, you're catching on, little brother," Dean chuckled. "All righty then, just follow my lead and try to blend in with the rest of the customers."

_Blend in? Right, Dean. This ought to be interesting! _

Dean walked into the Starbucks and all heads turned to stare at him, barely noticing his brother who entered after him. Dean seemed oblivious to all the attention, his eyes trained on the nerdy artist sketching away on his pad at the back corner table. Dean tried to act inconspicuous while padding in with his freaky elf shoes and sauntering up to the counter.

"Can I get two coffees, black, to go."

"You want a double latte, espresso, or cappuccino?"

"Two coffees, black."

"Would you like to try our Christmas blend? Or how about sampling our Sumatra, or Guatemala Casi Cielo?"

"I want two coffees, black. No sugar, no cream, no fancy, smancy special ingredients.., just plain old coffee, black. Seems kinda simple to me, sweetheart." Then he smiled his bright, dazzling, cocky grin.

She took a step back from the counter, yelling over her shoulder, "Mike, we got troublemakers here."

Mike came barreling from behind the counter and stood toe to elf toe with Dean.

"You being a smartass, buddy?"

Sam then tried to instill some calm into this confrontation. "Sorry, we just need regular old-fashioned black coffee."

"Then why the hell you coming in here? We don't do regular. We're Starbucks!"

Dean jumped back into the fray, "Yeah, I gathered that. Like you think you can reinvent coffee? I mean, coffee's been around for eons and all of a sudden you think you know a better way to make coffee? Pretty presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

Sam looked in shock at his wild brother, silently mouthing the word _presumptuous? Like Dean uses words like presumptuous? Maybe aliens did abduct my brother._

Mike now looked at Sam as the man of reason in this twosome. "Look, buddy, get your fairy out of here."

Sam braced for the coming explosion, sure it was going to be a doozy.

"FAIRY?" Dean quietly asked, before repeating himself in a more insistent voice, the volume cranked up to high. "**FAIRY? **Are you blind? I'm an elf! Anyone can see that!" He then turned to the gawking crowd. "Anyone here see a fairy? Come on, raise your hand if you see a fairy." He turned back again to the manager. "How about _that_, mister? Nobody here sees a fairy." He turned back to the crowd again. "All righty then, how many see an elf? That's right, raise 'em up. See…, _there you go_." Dean stood smirking at the crowd of people with their hands in the air. "An elf. Plain as day!"

Dean shook his head then, his ears casting a strange shadow on the wall behind him as the sun shown in through the window, the ears pointed and pronounced, refusing to be denied. He glanced over at the image the shadow revealed. "There, see that, Michael Darling? Even the shadows know I'm an elf." Dean again shook his head in disgust at the ignorance before him, while simultaneously entertaining himself with the dancing ears on the wall. "Alright, people, you are all assigned to go home and watch the Disney channel. Difference between elves and fairies, test tomorrow."

Mike was hardly amused by Dean's antics. "Hey look, mister, we serve coffee in here for people who want to get a load of caffeine fast, and we don't need any characters around to give the joint atmosphere. Is that clear, or do I have to slip you my left for a convincer?" Mike fisted his left hand and pumped like a boxer, to further reinforce his point.

Dean pointedly ignored him, instead watching as the cashier rang up another customer, smiling broadly as the register opened and a bell rang.

"Hey, Sammy, you hear that? Somebody just made it. Another angel just got its wings," Dean mused, his smile lighting up his face as his eyes twinkled.

TBC


	6. Children, Go Where I Send Thee

Chapter Six – Children, Go Where I Send Thee

"That does it, out you two pixies go… through the door or out the window," Mike yelled as he moved toward the brothers.

"Look, I thought we just covered that.., _I'm an elf_. Little slow on the uptake there, Einstein. Just chill out. You new to California or what?" Dean questioned as he sidestepped Mike's clumsy attempt to eject them. "No one's leaving your fine establishment, unless it's you." Dean grabbed his arm and twisted it forcefully behind his back before whispering in his ear, "We clear on that?"

Sam marveled at Dean's calm and composure. _Man, he sure has a new and improved attitude, what the hell happened to him?_

Mike grunted and finally regained his freedom as Dean released him. He staggered away from him, amazed at this strange elf's fighting skills, hesitant to test himself against this particular pixie. He reluctantly walked back behind the counter, acknowledging these two pixies were more than he could handle.

Sam eased up behind Dean and asked in a low voice, "Dean, I thought we were going to blend in and keep a low profile?"

"Hey, not my fault these yahoos don't know how to make a freaking cup of coffee. Our guy's still here, don't worry, we're good. No back exit, he still has to go through us to get out of here," Dean confidently pointed out.

"You okay?"

"Sammy, don't I _look_ okay? Quit worrying."

"You just got me a little scared. I mean, what's up with the new attitude?"

"You mean the new, improved elf Dean?"

"Uh, yeah."

Dean smiled, wondering if now was the time to tell him, _thinking_ _probably not_, but hell, he just wasn't able to hold it in any longer. He grinned his biggest, most illuminating smile as he excitedly replied, "You're _never _gonna guess who I met on the bus."

"Oh, gosh…, judging by the grin it must be the trifecta: stunning, stacked and slutty?"

"Hmmm, sounds good." Dean licked his lips and grinned at the visual in his head before giving his brother a puzzled look, "but seriously, dude, you have _got_ to hook me up with the bus you've been riding 'cause my bus came up empty in that department."

"Then why the smile?"

"Met a guy."

"Dad always worried about that," Sam responded with a wicked grin.

"Huh?" Then Dean's eyes grew wide and he punched his brother's arm as Sam let loose with a high pitched cackle. "A famous guy, a _legend, _dumbass!"

"Uh-huh, who?"

Dean stood taller now, like a first grader bringing home his first perfect report card, all A's and Outstanding's. He looked like he was about ready to bust the buttons right off his vest, _if he had only been wearing a vest instead of that ridiculous bell trimmed hoodie._

"Just one of the greatest guitarists in the world," he flaunted, almost jumping out of his skin.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! Come on, Sammy, guess."

"Dean… "

"Come on… guess!"

Sam sighed and resigned himself to playing Dean's little game. _Just humor him. You know how he is when he gets like this._

"Jimmy Page?"

"Man, that would be soooo cool…, but unfortunately... no."

"Clapton?"

"Good guess, but wrong."

"Hendrix?"

"Dude…, kinda dead," he replied with disgust.

"Duh, Dean. Ghosthunters…, could be our next case. It _is_ in the job description."

"True, but no. This guy happens to be alive and my new best friend."

"He have a lot of competition there, Dean?"

Dean scowled at his brother, "Nice… Come on, guess!" Dean rebounded with another patented DW grin. He was like a kid waiting for you to open your Christmas present, rocking back and forth on his heels, the anticipation killing him.

_No wonder I'm freaking out here, Dean. Have you looked at yourself lately? Not normal is all I'm saying. _Sam looked into his brother's sparkling eyes, dreading where this conversation might ultimately lead them. Hoping it wasn't the loony bin. "What was the clue again?"

Dean impatiently repeated, "One of the best guitarists in the world. Come on, you can do it!"

"B. B. King?"

"NOOOOOOOO!" Dean's face scrunched up from the agony of the wait.

"Well, which world we talking about here?"

"All right, I know..., lots of great players. I'll give you a hint. Hell.. Freezes.. Over.."

"Don Felder?"

Dean arched his eyebrows as he slowly nodded his head, "I'm _impressed_, Sammy! You know who Don Felder is?"

"No, not really..., except he's in the Eagles."

Disappointment registered on Dean's face before he again looked expectantly at his brother, his body language almost coaxing the correct answer from him like some bizarre game of charades. "One more chance, Sammy, and then I'm disowning you…, you are _so_ _damn close_…, come on, boy, you can do it… Oh, oh, oh.., great solo career too…, come on… that's right… you can do it."

"Well then, you must be talking about Joe Walsh."

"Yahtzee!" Dean was practically dancing a little elf jig right there before the counter of Starbucks.

_If we ever find Dad, you are soooo getting checked out, Dean! _

Sam hated bursting his bubble, he truly did, but it had to be done. "You're delusional, dude. No way he was riding a bus _in the city_."

Dean then took off on a frenzied rant, barely taking the time to breathe as he expounded his tale, his voice rising and falling with barely contained enthusiasm, "No, he was..., see.., he _lost_ his license and now he doesn't drive… and then, get this.., he _lost_ his driver and limo last night. I had to meet up with you…. but I didn't have any money… but he had a twenty…, so he paid for both of us to ride the bus. Lucky…, 'cause he doesn't usually carry money either..., you know.., he has accountants pay for everything… see…, he was gonna try to find his mansion… "

Sam broke in, trying to calm his brother down and instill some reason back into his overactive imagination. "Dean, come on. Very funny, can we get back to work now?"

Dean looked totally shattered by Sam's disbelief; his eyes displaying the anguish of a five-year-old watching his brand new, bright red balloon get popped by the rotten kid down the road that everyone said would end up in the big house before he turned twenty.

"It's the _truth,_ Sammy."

"No, Dean, those are lines from a song. You've been punked by an imposter."

"_What?_ No way. _I met him_," he whined.

"You're crazy, dude."

"No! _I.. am.. not._. And I have the proof. I'll show you!" Dean smiled as he whipped out his cell phone and started scrolling through the pictures until he came to… "No, no, no….This can't be freaking happening. Oh, God…, noooooooo…. Sonofabitch!"

"Dean, what is it?" Sam was truly concerned for his brother's mental health at this point. All the signs of a classic mental breakdown once more directing his brother to the nuthouse as a large neon sign blinked in vivid color, proclaiming to the world that Dean Winchester had officially lost it. His bold, fearless, protector of a big brother was becoming unhinged, unstable…._hell,_ _let's face facts.., stark, raving mad! _

_Calm down, Dean. I'm right here; together we'll get you through this. You've just been under a lot of pressure. It will all be all right; I'm with ya, bro._

"I am going to track down that preppy son of a bitch and rip off his thumbs, I swear to God!"

"Dean, _calm down_. What is it?"

"He ruined my freaking photo. Any idiot coulda taken that picture! He _wants _to die. He has to." Dean was pacing again, back and forth, his little elf shoes, making a tap, tap, tap noise on the parquet floor. "He's suicidal, he's freaking gotta be. He _wants _to die. And I'm gonna help him. I'm gonna find him and then he is dead! _Dead!_ Do you hear me? No debate on this, Sam. You with me?"

Dean stood staring at the display on his phone, a dejected scowl consuming his face. Sam reached over and pried his brother's fingers off of the phone so he could take it and see what had distressed him so. There on the display was his brother in living color, proudly grinning in his little elf suit standing there beside a big, fat thumb topped off with his little elf hat.

"You allowed someone to take a photo of you in that outfit? You _are_ insane."

"Sammy…, _shut-up!"_

Under different circumstances, in another time and place, Dean would have pouted and fussed and screamed to the heavens; but he was a professional and he had a job to do. Lives depended on him. _Damn it!_ He focused his mind on the task at hand, dismissing his own intolerable pain and scorching agony; once more ignoring his complete disappointment and utter despair, and valiantly returning all attention back to the job he was born to do.

"We got a job to do. Come on." Dean took the two black coffees she had finally set on the counter and proceeded over to a booth next to their suspect, who was nervously watching them as he continued drawing on his sketch pad.

As quickly as Dean had descended into the depths of despair, he rose from the ashes and resumed his sunny outlook, determined to finish this job and rescue these Santas. Once more destined to fulfill his duty and protect the innocent. _Yeah, all right…, yada, yada, yada!_

"Hey, whatcha got there?" Dean inquired, smiling his most calm, reassuring smile, hoping to lull the guy into a false sense of security.

The guy nervously shifted in his booth. "Nothing," he replied trying to cover his drawing with his hands.

"Well, it sure looks like you're busy drawing something there. Don't be shy. Not like we're art critics or anything, just curious. I wouldn't know a Grandma Moses from a Picasso." Dean continued smiling his open, casual, 'let's be friends' smile, which didn't seem to be working all that well on this guy.

"Yeah, well, curiosity killed the cat."

Dean frowned at that. "Hey, is that a threat? Are you _threatening_ us? Huh? Maybe you have a little experience there…, threatening people. Is that how you get off? You ever kidnap anyone? Maybe just make 'em disappear off the face of the freaking planet? Huh?"

"Dean…, _easy_. Maybe he wants to come clean? Huh, mister? You don't look like the sort to actually hurt people, now do you?" Sam stepped in, taking on the role of 'good cop' to Dean's 'bad'.

"No one got hurt. I..I..I wouldn't do that," he muttered, shifting as far from Dean as he could, his pencil now drumming nervously against the sketch pad.

"So, what did you do? Where are they?" Sam softly asked.

"They're safe. I'm sorry. Please…, just leave me alone."

Dean jumped back into the mix, "I think you're past that point, buddy boy. You're kinda in the doghouse here and unless you wanna be neutered, or _worse_, I'd start thinking up some answers."

The guy carefully laid his sketch pad down on the table and slowly rose to his feet. His face was contorted like he was concentrating really hard, his eyes closed, as his lips silently moved in a soft mumble. Dean was rising from the booth, ready to face off against this nerd, when the guy turned and disappeared through the brick wall behind him.

"Damn! You see that?" Dean gasped.

"Dean, where'd he go?" Sam yelled, moving to the side of his perplexed brother. They stood transfixed staring at the large, black circle that had appeared on the brick wall.

The brothers turned and looked at each other, neither believing what they had just witnessed. I mean, it's not every day you see a guy disappear through a black circle on a _solid _brick wall.

"What the Hell?" Dean exclaimed as he stood before the black circle. He tentatively reached his arm out toward it before his brother grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Dean, what are you doing? We don't know what that is."

"What Sam? You think it's gonna gnaw my arm off?"

Sam sheepishly grimaced, "Dean, we don't know what it's going to do."

Dean gave an amused sideway's glance at his brother before again reaching out his arm and boldly pushing it through the wall up to his elbow before withdrawing it again and looking expectantly at his still intact arm, slowly moving his fingers to insure they were all there and still functional.

"Huh! Well, it didn't eat me," Dean gloated.

"Not yet. Maybe it's not feeding time," Sam warned.

Dean looked over at the sketch book still laying open on the table. The picture the guy had been sketching was of a cartoon brick wall with a black circle on it. "This is freaking weird. Take a look at this."

Sam gazed at the picture, something familiar niggling at the back of his brain. "I've seen something like this before… somewhere, but where?"

"Dad's journal?"

"No, not the journal. Movies, no wait, a TV show. That's it! Remember, years ago Spielberg produced a TV show, a supernatural show, Amazing something or other."

"Oh, yeah, I remember…, ummm Amazing Stories, that was it."

"Right! Remember the story about the plane that lost its landing gear? The gunner stuck in the bottom glass thingamajig was gonna be crushed if they had to crash land on their belly."

Sam was piecing it all together now and his brother was right there with him.

Long, boring stays in motel rooms between jobs had always given them ample time to take in the few sci-fi or supernatural TV shows that managed to make it onto the screen for the short durations they normally lasted before cancellation relieved the masses of having to consider a reality different from the obvious and actually having to use that grey matter between their ears.

These were shows the brothers enjoyed immensely, certainly more than the normal drab fare of bed-hopping doctors or gory crime shows that staggered them with their pedestrian sensibilities and boring plotlines. Shows that never won Emmys and accolades because they failed to maintain the status quo and worse yet, upset the normal balance of mediocrity. _No thank you, corporate America._

Aside from Dean's occasional lapse for Baywatch, the Winchesters reserved their viewing time for reruns of shows like The Twilight Zone and Outer Limits, or the classic X-Files. Shows that actually gave you a deeper level to their entertainment value, shows with a purpose and a point of view, shows that actually dared the viewer to step outside their drab existence and contemplate another universe. _Shows that represented the real evil and complexity out there in the world. Shows that dared you to actually think._

_Okay, Sam, enough with the diatribe on what's wrong with TV, let's get on with this hunt and maybe save these missing Santas. Face it, you're never going to change the Nielsen Top Twenty, so you might as well give up that fantasy. You just gotta hope the quality shows manage to survive with the loyal, die hard fans' support. Now…, back to the hunt, little brother._

Dean was on the same page as his brother, vividly remembering that episode.

"Yeah, he was an artist, a cartoonist, and he started drawing these big, freaking balloon wheels and they just appeared on the plane and they had a normal landing. Saved the guy's life."

Then as the light bulbs exploded in their minds the brothers simultaneously proclaimed, "The power of his mind made the wheels real."

"Yeah." Dean nodded, "You ever run across anything like that actually happening? I mean, I figured it was just some smuck's overactive imagination? You think it's possible?"

"How else you gonna explain him walking through a brick wall?"

Dean stood poised before the circle. "Well then, let's go."

"Dean, we don't _know_ what's on the other side."

"What? You scared?"

"Cautious, Dean. We can't just go leaping into the unknown."

Dean grinned his cocky, 'what the hell' grin at that. _Actually, I think that's exactly what we need to do._ "You're too cautious, Sammy. You just gotta learn to live a little. One small step for man, one giant leap into the unknown. _Come on_, it's only a baby step. You know what they say, 'What the fuck!'" Before Sam could hold him back, his brother stepped through the wall and disappeared.

"Shit, Dean!" Sam stomped his foot for a second, cursing his brother's foolhardiness and rash actions. He grabbed up the sketch pad and stood muttering before the black circle. "Stargate, just don't deposit me on another planet, or in the middle of the ocean," he whispered to himself as he stepped through after his brother. _I seem to remember someone mentioning a rabbit hole? Dean, if we make it out of this alive, I am so going to kill you._

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cement was rushing up to greet him as Dean Winchester screamed his last breath as he plummeted twenty stories. "Son of a b.b.b.b.i.i..i..i..t..t..t..t...c…c...c...c...h...h...h….h…!" His eyes grew wide with fear as the cracks in the sidewalk became painfully evident, rushing up to greet him as he accelerated to his impending death. The air whipping past him distorted his face and his cheeks flapped against the flow of the breeze, like a parachutist in a freefall, except he possessed no chute to deploy. _Damn it!_ He tightly closed his eyes just before the final impact; he had no desire to see his remains splattered across the walkway. _Sammy can give me a report later._

Just when he figured he had made his last rash decision the bungee cord attached to his sides sprang into action whipping him back up into the sky again and then down once more, bouncing back and forth like a yo-yo on a string before finally settling a mere three feet off the ground. He hung there for a moment, thankful to be alive, before pivoting to a vertical position and finding his feet once more on solid ground. He reached to his sides to release the cord, only to find he wasn't attached to a cord, _nothing _was supporting him, just still air.

_Alrighty then, could this day get any weirder? _He looked around at his surroundings and decided that actually, _Yes, it could! Sammy, I hope you had the good sense to stay in the real world. _

A small high-pitched voice broke through his thoughts, "Good day."

"Howdy," Dean responded without thinking, still not sure if his voice was actually working, maybe it had vacated his faculties like his sight and hearing had. _I mean, come on! This is so not happening!_

"New in town?"

"Apparently. Where am I?"

"Where are you? Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh, they keep getting funnier and funnier. You'll do fine here. You look a might odd, but folks won't hold that against you."

"Really? Good to know."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sam was greeted by a heavy mass of darkness as he stepped into the brick wall, momentarily buried within the black, empty void. His senses were immediately deprived of sight and sound and he panicked that he would be trapped inside the wall like some poor victim in an Edgar Allan Poe tale, walled up and left to starve to death or succumb to a lack of oxygen. The terror in his heart ended seconds later when he once more saw daylight as he stepped clear of the darkness and entered into a Technicolor land of complete fantasy. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and peered out at the strange circumstances he found himself thrust into.

"Well, might have known."

"Huh?" Sam blinked his eyes several times, trying to comprehend the little, strange munchkin clone with the cartoon voice before him. _Yeah right, like this is really happening?_

"Just how tall are you? Seven? Eight feet?"

"Uh, six foot four."

"No, that can't possibly be right. You must be mistaken. At least seven foot I'd say. Lucky for you, we like the atmosphere of high ceilings. Some of the houses in town don't have 'em and you'd be bent over the whole time. Bet you wouldn't want to stay there long, huh?"

"Stay where?"

"Old town, ceilings in old town would never do for you. Guess you'll have to stay with us here in new town while you decide whether to take the job or not. You bring your resume? How much experience you have?"

"Experience at what?"

"Enforcing the law, of course. You are here about the position, aren't you?"

"Well, it depends. What position?"

"Just your standard officer of the law. We don't need much; just keep the pranksters from going hog wild. We all like a little fun, but some of these characters just take it too far."

"Really, like how?"

"Well, the big, bad wolf actually had one of the little pigs tied down on a spit and was roasting him over a fire. Not that it would actually hurt him, but I think we could all agree, not funny."

"No, I wouldn't think so. What else?"

"Well, this was kinda funny, but wrong. _Definitely wrong_. Someone, who shall remain nameless, but is known around town as a lost boy, green leotards, feather in his cap, actually clipped Dumbo's ears. Poor thing could only fly in circles like a trained parakeet for weeks until they grew back."

"Tough break."

"So you interested? Great benefits, a real feel good job."

"Yeah, I bet. So you have these little incidents very often?"

"No, no, no. Not often. Most folks know how to have a good time within reason. Everyone likes to laugh, right? Nothing like a good time, wouldn't you say? It's usually the younger crowd that takes it too far. You know, don't know the proper boundaries. That's were you come in. You police the pranks, keep them within the law."

"You know that sounds really fascinating, but I have a partner, my brother, and I really need to find him. Would you happen to have seen him?"

"Oh, a treasure hunt!" He jumped up and down, clapping his hands. "This sounds like fun. Tell me…, what's he look like?"

"He's wearing an elf suit."

"Hmmm, doesn't help me at all; you're going to have to give me more to go on then that."

"You're kidding?"

"Look around you, son. Elf suit, not very distinctive."

"Well, let's see. He's tall, handsome according to some, huge grin usually, unless he's pissed, then you can tell to just leave him alone."

"Oh, yes, I've known a few like that. _Touchy!"_

"Exactly! That's what I say. Anyway, got a cocky attitude and a smartass mouth."

"Ohhh, did he just drop in?"

"Yeah, he would have got here just before me."

"Yippee! I win!"

"You know where he is?"

"Yep, I win! Roger pulled a little practical joke on him. Oh, you should have heard him scream! Had half the town laughing."

"SCREAM? Why was he screaming?"

"Oh, I don't know… " Laughter then as he recalled the moment. "You'd scream too if you were thrown out a twenty-story window."

"Oh my God, what happened?"

"I told you, he screamed."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Is he… " Sam couldn't even bring himself to voice his fears, taking a deep breath he managed to get out, "Is he hurt?"

"Why would he be hurt?"

"You said he was thrown out a twenty story window!"

"No one gets hurt here. We don't _hurt_ people, that's no fun!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------

A sultry voice whispered, "Hey, handsome, why don't you come up and see me sometime?"

A puff of smoke encircled Dean's shocked expression as he gazed at the most dreamily sexy cartoon of a woman he had ever witnessed, _no wait_, he had seen her before, but where? She was dressed in a skintight, shimmering, floor length sequined red gown. Her deep, husky drawl mesmerizing and tantalizing as her mile long, sexy legs slipped through the deep slit down the front of her gown, while a another slit in her bodice exposed the va..va..varoom of her ample breasts as she sashayed around him, her long, red hair blowing across her face and accentuating her stunning features. _Man, I should have signed up for animation classes a long time ago!_

The most annoying, high pitched whine cut into the moment and snatched his attention away from this fetching creature.

"Oh, Jessica, leave the poor boy alone. He doesn't even know where he is. Let him get his bearings before you turn his head like that."

"Oh, Roger, _darling_. You know you're the only rabbit for me. No one has the raw animal charisma like you do, you frisky little bunny."

_Alrighty then, did someone mention a freaking rabbit hole?_

TBC


	7. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

Chapter Seven – Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

"Roger, I think he's in shock."

"Hey, buddy!" Roger stepped before Dean and snapped his fingers in front of his blank face. Dean absently stared at him, his mind still recovering from his twenty-floor plunge, not yet grasping the strange world he had been thrust into. "All right, Jessica, you can do it…, but just this once. I guess you need to take one for the team. Just don't _enjoy _it!" Roger whined in that grating, obnoxious voice.

Jessica Rabbit swung her hips seductively as she walked over to Dean and planted her luscious, full red lips on his. Dean's eyes blinked furiously as he succumbed to the pressure, fully kissing her back.

_Wow! It's back… The feeling is back! Imagine that! My, my, I guess the equipment is fully functional again… Now, the only concern being I'm getting turned on by a cartoon. A beautiful, mesmerizing vision of a seductress, but damn…, still a cartoon. Whoever drew her sure knew how to present the bad girl._

Reading his mind from the dirty look on his face, Jessica defended herself, "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."

"Okay, buddy, hands off." Roger cut in between them, scowling at the elf. "Jessica's _mine_. Go find your own hot babe."

"She's with you?" Dean asked incredulously, somehow regaining his faculties only to be faced with an incomprehensible pairing.

"What's wrong with that?" the rabbit groused.

Dean took in the rabbit's appearance: long, floppy white ears, big eyes and nose, just about four foot tall, dressed in red overalls and a polka-dot bow tie, and possessing the biggest damn feet he'd ever seen, and that included Sam's Sasquatch stompers. _Goofy looking would be the polite comment._

"Just never woulda put you two together is all, kinda like Jessica Simpson dating a midget Carrot Top."

"Roger is the sexiest man, er rabbit, I've ever known."

The sultry voice was like liquid fire warming Dean's loins and making his manhood burn with desire. _Yeah, the feeling is definitely back, but damn, talk about awkward. This is disturbing on so many levels._

The first level being he found himself inexplicably wishing she was talking about _him,_ but instead she was spouting the virtues of her husband, her goofy-looking, frenetic _rabbit_ husband! _Go figure! _The other levels? Well, he decided it would be prudent to not even acknowledge those. _Not gonna go there!_

That voice cut through his thoughts again, sexy and so damn appealing, "Roger is everything! What more could a girl ask for?"

Dean quirked his head as his mind processed the strange images before him. "You want the long or short of it?" Dean snickered, feeling his old, cocky self reemerging.

Ignoring him, Jessica breathlessly continued, "No one makes me feel like my Roger."

"Well, that's a relief! Wouldn't want more than one of them out there in the world now, would we? You _really_ want to feel good, sweetheart? Then you _should _come up and see me sometime," Dean confidently boasted, once more back in proper form.

Jessica brushed past him and tenderly stroked Roger's face before scratching the top of his head, right between his ears, causing his right foot to stomp madly. "Roger makes me laugh."

Dean's expression froze for a moment, the wheels in his mind spinning wildly just trying to picture… _no…, no, no, no… not really wanting to envision THAT!_ What he couldn't wrap his mind around was why in the hell this stunning vision would be attracted to that nerdy buffoon? Then his bad boy grin resurfaced as he responded, "Laugh, huh? Like at the comedy club or… you know…, in the _moment?_ 'Cause that's not exactly something most guys strive for. I kinda go for the WOW! Factor myself."

"A girl likes nothing better than a hunk of a man who can make her laugh. You're a doll, Elfie…, maybe in another life, huh? Roger's got me all wrapped up in this one."

Dean twisted his lips into his most perverted smirk, his eyes displaying his merriment. "Oh, I get it… you're into bondage? All righty then. You… ah.. got a rabbit cage hidden around here somewhere? Hey, let me guess, forget the strawberries and whipped cream… You guys go for the carrots and ranch, right?" Dean's cocky smile revealed the immense joy he was getting out of this little encounter, a stark contrast to how this meeting first started.

Once more the obnoxious voice intruded into his joyful fantasy, "Hey, knock it off."

"Hey, I thought that was your department… " A smug smile spread across his face before he innocently gazed at Roger. "No offense." Dean again gave a quick glance toward Jessica, his tongue licking his lips as his mind once more entered the forbidden zone.

Observing the lecherous expression evident on his face, Roger took umbrage. "Hey, are you flirting with my wife there, Mister Elf?"

"Who me?" Dean innocently replied. "Just being friendly. I'd never try to compete with a fine catch such as yourself. So, what'd she use as bait in the rabbit trap, er… carrots or what is it a guy like you eats? Myself, not much of a green grazer, more a meat and potatoes kinda guy."

"You got a smart mouth there, Mister Elf," Roger shot back.

"So I've been told. Seriously, just joshing you.., you know…, fitting in with the whole tone of Toontown. You do make a mighty fine looking couple." Dean's eyes glinted as he spoke, his voice all smooth and velvety now, lulling Roger back into blissful ignorance.

"Well, that's more like it. Wouldn't want to have to throw you out another window…" Roger gulped as soon as the words slipped from his mouth. "Oops…" His voice went up two octaves as fear gripped him. The intensity of the vibrations now proving to be even more grating on Dean's nerves. "You're not the sort to hold a grudge now…, are you?" he squeaked out. "Just a little harmless fun."

"HARMLESS? You almost KILLED me!"

Dean reacted instantly, the Winchester revenge mode slipping into high gear. He grabbed Roger by his long, floppy white ears and lifted him off the ground, bringing him up to eye level and fiercely shaking him. Roger displayed the proper terror as his eyes wildly bugged out and his tongue started frantically spouting something…, _anything…_ to curb the fury he saw growing in Dean's eyes.

"Just a joke…, no harm.., no foul. Come on, you can take a _joke_, can't you?" he squealed.

_It had been what? Four minutes, five, tops?_ Dean was already tired of hearing his incessant chatter in that high pitched, irritating Toon voice. His mind returned him to the movies, a familiar movie. _Yes, of course. _His memory served him well, giving him just the ammunition he needed to resolve this little conflict. No need for Dad's journal or research, he knew exactly how to kill this rascally rabbit.

"_Dip._ I need me some Toon dip." Dean gave the rabbit his best evil grin, a maniacal smile foretelling the pain to come. "If there's one thing a hunter knows it's the proper disposal method for every type of creature. Yep…, definitely need some of Judge Doom's dip. You ready to meet your maker, Harvey?"

"I.i.i.i.t.t.t.t's _Roger_… Oh...," relief flooded over the rabbit. "You have me confused with another white rabbit. He's much, _much_ taller; maybe he's around here somewhere." Roger innocently looked into Dean's eyes and sweetly batted his lashes. "He's kinda hard to see…. You want me to look for you?"

Dean barely shook his head in response, his eyes fixed in an icy stare. "Thanks, but you'll do." Then he smiled, totally pleased with his plans.

"Please, don't hurt my Roger. He never meant any harm, look… you're fine, not a scratch on you. This is Toontown. This place was built on practical jokes, come on… _please_…, He only wants to make people laugh," Jessica pleaded in that voice again. A voice so sensual it could make Dean consider lascivious thoughts with a drawing… _a drawing, for christsakes!_

That incessant, grating whine continued on, pleading for mercy. "Hey, mister, haven't you ever pulled a practical joke? Huh? Just for a laugh? Just to have a good time and release the tension? Huh? Huh? Haven't you?" Sad-sack eyes stared up at Dean, one lone tear falling to the pavement as he fluttered his long lashes.

Dean grinned at the memory of the itching powder he put in Sammy's gym shorts before his soccer game. He'd never seen his brother hustle so much on the field, had one of his best games ever. The boy just couldn't stand still. The coach even gave him an award that year as the player who covered the most ground. Dean really felt he should have shared in the award as his own personal trainer or something.

Considering Dean had no idea where to get his hands on some of that dip, he gave one last menacing glare to Roger and released him. "You mess with me again, Whitey, and I will dip you."

"You got it, mister. No more jokes on you. No, siree! Friends?"

"Don't push it, you're lucky to drop off the enemy list."

"Well, that's somethin', huh? Apology accepted…, shake?"

"Apology? I didn't apologize," Dean scoffed.

"No? Well then I'll be the bigger man. I apologize. Shake?"

Roger offered his hand and Dean shrugged and released his anger, Joe's mellow attitude once more directing him to just kick back and relax. A peaceful sigh escaped his lips as he relented and reluctantly grasped Roger's proffered hand and was greeted with tiny volts of electricity traveling up his arm. "Urrrrgggggg, what the hell?" he gasped as his pulled his hand back and the pain stopped.

"Oops.., _sorry_." Roger turned pink from embarrassment and his ears drooped down to the cement. "I just can't help myself." He flashed Dean the Acme hand buzzer in his gloved hand as he sheepishly looked down at the ground, cowering before the elf.

"You want to die, don't you?" Dean scowled.

"No, not exactly. _No_…, I don't believe so." Then more forcefully, with total conviction, "No.., _absolutely NOT!_ No…., _what was_ _the question again?" _he squealed.

Roger jumped into the air and started running circles around Dean, a hyper, uncontrolled bundle of pure energy.

_Did someone mention the energizer bunny?_

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So you know where my brother is?"

"Well, I did. Whether he's still there or not, kinda depends on his attitude. Does your brother know how to take a joke? I mean… he's a good sport, right?"

Sam grimaced and his eyebrows furrowed as he considered all the implications of that question.

_Is Dean a good sport? Absolutely…, if he's the one doing the pranking. On the receiving end? Well, that just depends. Uh… let's see.., that would hinge on the extent of damage to his macho self image, whether the joke was public knowledge, and then the most critical factor: how long since he's gotten laid? He always seems to be more mellow and laid back (huh, interesting choice of words) after a successful hunt or conquest. Considering he'd been a little off his game of late, what with the elf costume and all… hmmm, this could get ugly._

Sam mentally tallied up the scorecard.

_Let's see how this all adds up. Screaming might be looked upon as not so manly…, then we have half the town witnessing the prank, so you'd have to conclude it was public knowledge…, and sadly the laid part appears for all extents and purposes to be a negative. While the women still seem to be pursuing big bro despite his elf suit, just witness the bruised and battered butt he's constantly complaining about; Dean's been oddly detached and loathe to pursue his many romantic opportunities…, henceforth, prospects for him being a good sport look bleak… mighty bleak! I pity the fool who messes with my brother under these circumstances._

Concern filled Sam's eyes as he pondered the ramifications of not getting to Dean in time. "I think the sooner I find my brother, the better. Think you can point me in the right direction?"

"Oh, I can do better than that. Let me call you a cab… BENNY!" he shrieked.

Sam stared at his little munchkin friend, his outburst more than a little unsettling. Of course, the yellow cab with black and white checkered trim that roared from nowhere and screeched to a halt on the sidewalk before him could be considered even more disturbing. Huge eyes blinked for headlights and his front grille turned up in a smile, or it could be considered a grimace considering the snarky comments coming from his loud and obnoxious mouth. _I wonder if this is where the Teen Choice Awards got the idea for Choice Grill?_

Breathlessly the cab bellowed, "You need a cab? Get in." The passenger door swung open as if by magic and the cab shook with anticipation. "Come on, get in. Where to buddy? You here to see the sights or you got a particular destination in mind?"

"He's the brother of the bloke Roger threw out the window. Think you can hook him up with his brother again?"

"Your brother's a good sport, ain't he?" Benny asked with concern.

"That depends," Sam answered as he climbed into the cab.

"Uh-oh, that don't sound so good. We better hurry. Don't want to miss the showdown!" He roared off the sidewalk honking his horn as he forced his way into traffic. "Out of the way, pokey. Watch it, you rust bucket."

Sam shifted nervously in his seat. He had never ridden in a cab in New York City or Rome, but he'd heard all the stories and this Benny seemed too eager to put those other cabs to shame.

"Look… Benny, is it? Maybe I should drive?" he ventured.

"WHAT? You making a statement about my driving? I was driving when you were just an itch in your daddy's pants. You, young, whippersnappers, think you know everything? NOBODY drives this cab but ME!"

_Touchy! You and Dean ought to be best buds. You're both crazed drivers with odd attachments to wheels and chrome. Of course, in your case, it's at least understandable; I guess the cab really is a part of you… like, maybe… all of you._

Sam dug his fingers into the door handle and seat and held on for dear life, trusting no human would be hurt in Toontown. _That is what the movie claimed at least. _All things considered, that was all he had to hang onto now. Benny took another wide turn at breakneck speed dodging in and out of the slower traffic. _I guess it is critical to get to Dean fast; I just hope I get there in one piece._

"You hungry, 'cause there's a terrific deli right down the block here," Benny piped up.

"Maybe later, kinda in a hurry."

"Right, don't wanna miss the showdown."

Benny screeched to a stop throwing Sam's too long legs into the glove box as a huge pink elephant sauntered across the road. Sam blinked twice and tried to remember if he'd drunk anything today. Nope, not that he recalled, so this couldn't be a drunken vision, _could it?_

Benny yelled out to the elephant, "Looking good, Miss Sadie."

Sam swore she sashayed her hips more after the attention and her long lashes fluttered seductively at him. _Damn! Dean is never gonna believe this._

Sam shifted back in his seat again as Benny gunned it and took off at race speed. As his knees released the pressure on the glove box, it sprung open and six dancing fairies popped out, laughing and giggling as they pointed to the tall, extremely good-looking passenger. Their voices all rang out with a high pitched, sing-song inflection. They somewhat talked over each other, all too excited to be polite and wait their turn.

"Hey, mister, you new in town?"

"I saw him first, step aside sister."

"He winked at me. I call dibs."

"No fair. I saw him first."

"Didn't call dibs."

"Didn't have to."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Hey, mister, you like me best? Right?"

Sam mumbled something about Tinker Bell and all the fairies stopped bickering amongst themselves and focused their attention on the real enemy, the traitor that used to be one of them.

"She's a showboat."

"Yeah, she got her big break and all of a sudden lost my number."

"Uppity."

"Yeah, thinks she's a STAR now. Any one of us coulda played that role."

"She's 'gone Hollywood'."

"Yeah, still brags she's got Walt on speed dial."

Sam broke into the conversation now, confidently explaining, "Well, that really won't do her much good now, 'cause Walt's no longer with us."

"What? Walt left town?"

"Ah, no. Walt died. A long time ago, actually."

"Ohh, sad."

"Yeah, you know… _human_."

"It happens."

"Long time ago, though."

"Yeah, but Tinkey's got him on speed dial!"

They all started laughing then in these irritating falsetto voices.

"See, I knew she was a lying bitch."

"Ladies…, er..fairies…, uh.., _whatever._ I really don't have time for this," Sam explained, apparently to deaf ears.

"Well, excuse us!"

"We keeping you from something important? Like don't let us stand in your way."

"Move aside, girl."

"Yeah, let's blow this popsicle stand."

"Yeah, he's not so cute."

"Not so cute at all."

"Stuck on himself."

"Got a poor attitude."

"We can do better."

"You bet we can, sister."

With a flutter they all flew away in a wave of sparkling fairy dust.

"Hey, they stiff me for the cab fare?" Benny yelled.

Sam shrugged, a mystified expression still consuming his face. His mouth open in shock. "Uh, sorry. I guess so. How much further?"

"Right up around that corner. Sure hope we didn't miss the brouhaha. Roger sure knows how to pick 'em. Don't he?"

_I wouldn't know. I just hope Dean doesn't do something he's going to regret._

------------------------------------------------------------------

Dean had somehow gotten his hands on a steel pipe and brought it down on the rabbit's head _with a vengeance!_ Repeated swings hammered the rabbit down into the ground, his body flattened out like a compressed accordion as little blue birds circled Roger's dazed and battered head. As Roger's eyes glazed over and red circles swirled around his irises the birdies floated around him chirping a soft upbeat melody.

"I told you not to mess with me, you freak," Dean spat out as he raised the pipe up for another blow.

Sam exited the cab before it had even come to a complete stop, swiftly rushing to his brother's side and extricating the pipe from his hand.

"Dean, what the hell?"

"Hey, Sammy! See you got over your little bout with caution. Figured you'd stay in the safe and predictable world. How you liking the Toon world? We having fun yet?" Dean looked thrilled to have his brother back by his side, the broken and beaten down rabbit forgotten as he embraced the joy of having Sam back beside him.

"Dean, you're killing him!"

Dean glanced at the flattened rabbit, his smile never wavering. "Not hardly, little brother. He's a Toon…, can't kill 'em. Can't even hurt 'em. Just cutting him down to size." Dean looked like he was having the time of his life, beating the crap out of the little fella.

"Dean, stop it."

"Chill out, Sammy. Just letting him know who's boss."

Roger sprang back up to full size, bouncing off the pavement like an inner tube being aired up.

Sam was still feeling concern over his brother's state of mind, "Dean, you all right?"

"Super. You?" Dean's cocky grin once more presenting the old, reliable, badass brother Sam had come to know and find _oh, so smug and annoying_. Still, Sam had to admit he was relieved to see him in one piece and not a squished bug print on the sidewalk.

"Better, now that I found you. So have you seen our guy here?"

"Not yet. Been kinda occupied with my new friend Roger. Roger, I'd like you to meet my kid brother. Sammy… " and Dean waved his hand in the direction of the rabbit, "Roger."

Roger jumped up with a huge grin. "Any friend of Dean's is a friend of mine. Shake?" He reached out his gloved hand with infectious enthusiasm.

Sam grabbed the rabbit's paw in a firm handshake and jumped as the volts of electricity from the hand buzzer shot up his arm. He quickly pulled back his hand and shook out his arm. "What the hell?"

Roger slunk away, his ears once more turning that vivid pink shade of embarrassment. "Sorry, force of habit."

Dean was laughing full out now, "Ah, it gets funnier every time."

"You knew? Jerk!"

"So, Sammy, _you_ wanna use that pipe now?" Dean scoffed.

"Violence never solves anything, Dean."

"Your college professors tell you that? 'Cause Dad would sure as hell disagree." Dean stopped then as he remembered their purpose. _Where the hell is Dad and the rest of the missing Santas?_

"Dean?" Sam noticed the subtle inflection in his brother's voice and knew he was back on track, sharing the same thoughts Sam was pondering. _Is Dad here? And is he alright?_

Dean turned to his new friend…, _well_.., _not__ enemy_, "Hey, Roger, you seen any people around dressed as Santas?"

"Oh, like big, red suits with furry white trim? And snowy white beards and hair?" Roger was getting more animated, as if that were even possible, as he excitedly continued on, "And heavy black boots and wide, black belts? Big, jolly fellas spouting Ho! Ho! Ho!'s and huge bellies shaking like a bowl full of Jell-O?"

"Exactly, where'd you see 'em?"

"No, haven't seen anyone like that," Roger exclaimed, vehemently shaking his head no.

"WHAT?"

"Nope, not a soul."

"Sam, give me the pipe." Dean gave a stern look to his brother and reached out his hand.

Jessica once more rushed to her husband's defense, "Please, he doesn't know anything. We may not have seen them, but if they're here, there's only one place to hide out."

"And that would be?" Dean pressed.

"The Ink and Paint Club on Mayberry Street. If they're in Toontown, that's where they'll be."

Benny the cab piped up now, "Ohhhh, I know it well. Just fifteen minutes from here, hop in."

Jessica was sashaying past Sam, once more hoping to stand by her man, her… er… rabbit.

Sam's eyes bugged out as he watched her sensuously stroll around him, her hips swaying as her long, sexy, gorgeous legs slid out of the dangerously high slit in her form fitting gown, her voluptuous bosom barely contained in the low cut of her dress. Just before his jaw hit the ground his brother made one more observation.

"Who'da thought? I guess it is true. Sammy's got a thing for the bad girls."

Jessica's sultry voice whispered once more, "Look, boys, I told you. I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."

"Yeah, right," Dean grinned. "Tell it to Sister Kathleen at the convent, 'cause we're not buying it."

TBC


	8. I'll Be Home for Christmas

Chapter Eight – I'll Be Home for Christmas

"Come on, get in. We don't have all day. You wanna find these Santas or what?" Benny was revving his engine, his wheels literally spinning as he impatiently waited for the Winchester brothers to make up their minds. "The meter's running. Move it or lose it!" he yelled.

Dean ogled Jessica one last time all the while muttering under his breath, "Oh, man!" Then he turned to Roger and patted his back, the force of which propelled him into Sam. "Hey, Rog… you lucky dog, er… man, er… hell, _rabbit_. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Alrighty then, it's been… _real?" Well not exactly, but close enough._

He gave the rabbit one last dirty sneer, followed by a dirtier laugh and then turned to his brother who was still bewitched by the vision of Jessica. "Sammy, better shut it. The plane's not coming into the hangar today." Dean's hand reached up to playfully close Sam's mouth, but was swatted away by his less than amused brother.

Sam returned his attention to the situation at hand. "Dean, I've _been_ ready. You're the one that can't seem to move his feet."

"Oh, really?" Dean pointed down to his little elf shoes as he confidently shuffled to the cab and eased into the driver's seat, softly humming under his breath, _"These boots were made for walking."_

Sam smiled to himself as he observed his cocky brother. _Good luck, Dean. Like you're going to be driving that cab? I don't think so!_

Sam climbed in the passenger side and Benny took off. It took all of three seconds for Dean to realize he was not controlling this cab. He was simply the five-year-old on the car ride in front of the supermarket, furiously moving the steering wheel back and forth and pressing the pedals while the car did whatever it was going to do regardless. Dean tried to hit the brakes to no effect. His feet pounded repeatedly on the pedal, refusing to take _no_ for an answer as his eyes flashed in frustration, bordering on anger.

"What the hell? What kind of freaking ride you got me on, Sammy?"

"Dean, just sit back and enjoy the view."

"Like Hell! Hey, you…, Benny is it?"

"What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?" Benny yelled as the brakes squealed and the cab jerked to a stop while a parade of brightly colored cartoon characters marched across the street in a steady stream. Leading the pack was Mickey Mouse with his drum major outfit on, pumping his arm with his baton raised in the air. Goofy followed on trombone, with Donald on drums and then Minnie with her tambourine chiming in. Assorted other cartoon musicians brought up the rear.

"Sammy, you catching this?" Dean asked with a baffled look of amazement on his face, his mind still not believing the never-ending strangeness they had been swallowed up in.

"Yeah, Dean, not blind."

"So, if you're seeing this too, then either we're both crazy or neither is. Right?"

"It _is _Toontown."

"Yeah, well it's feeling more and more like the Twilight Zone."

"Ohhh, I loved that show!" Benny exclaimed.

"Yeah? Well, no one's talking to you, oil pan."

"I'll ignore that 'cause you may be in a state of shock over your dad's disappearance. Otherwise, you'd be walking, Mister."

"How about I be driving? Huh? Release the goddamn wheel!"

"No."

"What?"

"My wheels, I drive. Them's the rules."

"Yeah? Well I don't follow the rules. How you like them apples?" Dean barked.

"Personally, I don't. I don't eat apples; they cause the exhaust to backfire."

"Figures."

Sam had enough of this little war of words and broke into their exchange, "Dean, just settle down. How much further, Benny?"

"Just around this corner." Benny spun around the corner, throwing Sam into Dean's side by the force and screeched to a stop. "Here it is. You fellas know the password?"

"Open or I shoot?"

"Smooth, Dean. No, we don't know the password. Think you can help us out there, Benny?"

"What's today? Tuesday? Then the password is Wednesday."

"Damn, that's clever! Guess you have to pander to the mentality of the patrons, huh?" Dean snidely remarked.

"Benny, thanks for the lift."

"Anytime for you, Sam. Tell your brother there to get some manners."

Sam grinned at Dean's wounded look, like a puppy that had been smacked down and yelled at for getting up on the counter and stealing food. _Exactly what did you expect, Dean? He may be a cartoon car, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings._

Dean brashly strolled up to the entrance of the Ink and Paint Club and rapped two knuckles on the door. A small window opened and a deep booming voice called out, "Got the password?"

Sam stepped up and answered, "Wednesday."

A loud click sounded and the heavy door swung open. The brothers walked through and were startled by the doorman, a huge Gorilla over eight feet tall partially dressed in a tuxedo: vest, tie and little doorman's cap perched precariously on his too large head.

"Nice monkey suit," Dean snarked to the imposing bouncer.

"Smartass," the deep voice of the bouncer responded.

"Why's everyone still focused on my ass?" Dean asked with a smug grin.

"Get over yourself, Dean. Not everyone is as concerned with your butt as you are."

"Sammy, you're just jealous 'cause Jessica wasn't checking out your ass."

"So now you _want _women ogling your butt again?"

"Hey, they can _always_ check it out. It's the pinching that's gotta stop, except of course under controlled circumstances." Dean smacked his lips and smirked, images of wild nights merrily dancing in his head, his own personal variation on the visions of sugarplums that most Christmas revelers dreamt of.

"Dean, we're here to get Dad back, remember?"

Dean snapped back into hunter mode. "Huh? Oh, yeah…, right!"

"Wow! Would you look at this place?" Sam slowly turned and took in the commotion.

The club was packed with humans intermingling with cartoon characters from every Saturday morning TV show. Every genre was represented from the old time black and white toons of Betty Boop and Mighty Mouse to the new age Lilo & Stitch and Yu-Gi-Oh! Strangely enough, the brothers' arrival sparked rapt attention from the patrons who were all mysteriously staring at Sam.

Dean immediately delighted in the curious reaction to his not so little 'normal' brother. "Hey, Sammy, how's it feel to be the freak? Looks like you're odd man out now."

"Yeah, Dean, and dressed in your little elf getup you're Mr. Normal. I get it."

"Sorry, man, nothing personal. I'm sure once they get to know you, they won't think you're so peculiar."

"Thanks, Dean, how very big of you."

"Well, Sammy, it's like I always say, 'you've always been a freak'."

Dean chuckled and motioned to the bar and they quickly crossed the floor and settled in on bar stools at the Casablanca style wooden bar, taking in the ambiance of the joint.

"What'll it be?" the comely barmaid with the low-cut top and overabundant breasts asked in a throaty whisper that could give Jessica a run for her money. _What is it with these scantily clad sexpot cartoons?_

Dean's wandering eye drank in the vision before him before reluctantly making that, oh, so difficult eye contact and ordering two beers. The beer bottles were plopped on coasters and slid over to the brothers, and Dean took a long, cool drink savoring the much needed refreshment.

He furrowed his brow and drew out his best Humphrey Bogart voice, easily assuming his Sam Spade persona. "So, what's the news? I hear some Santas might be hanging around here."

The barmaid checked out his chiseled physique before drawling, "Maybe." She leaned in closer and whispered, "You looking to join the party? Elves aren't allowed. You got a Santa suit hidden in there somewhere?"

Before Dean could return the flirtation, Sam flashed his most innocent look, and queried, "The party?"

She reluctantly dragged her eyes off of the older Winchester and addressed the younger, "Yeah, private party in the back. I've been supplying the beer and food. Been going on for a couple weeks now. New Santa every few days. Last one came in a couple of days back."

Sam's eyebrows arched in interest and he continued, "Yeah, we're looking to join the party."

"You got an invite?"

"Not exactly," Dean interjected, "think you could hook us up?"

"Not without the host's okay. I told you, private party."

"So who's the host? A little, short, nerdy human with a sketch pad?"

"Walter? No, Walter just visits sometimes. No, no, no. Walter's not the host, no… not Walter." The barmaid chuckled at that thought.

Just then Dean caught a glimpse of Walter, lurking over by one of the back doors, anxiously watching them. When he realized he'd been spotted he slipped through the door out of sight.

"Sammy, come on."

The brothers took off after their illusive prey, but as they burst through the back door they were greeted by a long, empty hallway with dozens of brightly colored doors. As they walked down the hall it appeared to just keep expanding with every step bringing them no closer to the end. As if by magic, of the Harry Potter variety, the end of the hallway was always just beyond reach.

"This is gonna take all day. How the hell many doors are there?"

"Dean, I have a bad feeling about this. I don't think there's an end to 'em. They probably don't even lead anywhere."

"Great!" Dean stood in his little elf outfit and threw his hands up in the air, his standard issue look of exasperation overwhelming his face.

Standing amid the vast expanse of doors the brothers slowly turned, adjusting their minds once more to the strange realm they had entered. As they stood pondering their next move, one of the doors slowly opened and they caught a glimpse of green fingers on the door frame before it quickly closed again.

They raced to the closed door and found it locked.

"You got your pic set?" Dean asked as he held out his hand to his brother.

Sam handed him the set and Dean expertly picked the lock and opened the door. Stepping into the darkened room he searched for any sign of movement. A soft shuffling noise was off on his left and he turned toward it, stealthily moving in. Only a dim light glowed from an unknown source, barely illuminating the fixtures within, hiding whomever hung back in the shadows.

"You better come on out. Don't make us come and get you," Dean threatened. All the while his mind pondered the green fingers, the green Santa wannabe, the possible Grinch in their midst. _Unbelievable…, freaking insane! I mean, we've seen a lot of strange creatures…, but the Grinch?_

Shockingly, it was a female voice that rang out from the darkness, begging for mercy.

"Please, don't kill him. He didn't mean anything; he was just hurt. He so wanted the children to love him. He never meant any harm."

"Who you talking about? Just come on out and explain yourself. I promise we won't hurt you," Dean cajoled, giving his brother a quick shrug of his shoulders as Sam's eyes quizzed his new found compassion. Under his breath he whispered to his brother, "Chances are they're toons, Sammy. Can't hurt 'em anyway."

A hesitant, scared voice responded back, "You promise you won't hurt him?"

Sam nodded his agreement to his brother and the presence still lurking in the shadows. "Yeah, we promise. Just show yourself."

A short, plump, green female with huge, expressive eyes and small funnel shaped ears that stood out from her head appeared before their stunned eyes.

"Fiona?" they gasped in unison.

"No, no, no… you have _got _to be kidding me!" Dean muttered.

Sam simply stared at his brother and then Fiona. "Don't tell me our Santanapper is…. "

Realization flashed on Dean's face in that same instant and the brothers again spoke in unison, "SHREK!?!"

Dean continued in shocked awe, "Is he insane? Why in hell would he want to be Santa? He's a movie star now. Biggest freaking movie of the year. Why would he want to deal with all those snotty kids?"

Fiona sighed, still amazed herself at the perplexing turn around he had executed since the days when he happily secluded himself in his swamp. His new social persuasion surpassed every hope or expectation she had for her new husband.

"He just loves the children so and wanted to make them happy."

"Huh, guess he's not the sharpest tool in the shed. Is he?"

"Dean, no need to insult her husband."

Dean turned with a hurt look on his face, the same look he gave Sam the first time his brother saw him in his elf suit and couldn't stop laughing at his predicament. _Man, good times!_

"Nice, Sammy. You defend the green ogre, but you let Missouri rip me back in Lawrence?"

"Hey, you're not a movie star, dude."

"Oh, so power and fame cut you some slack?"

"Basically, yeah!" Sam grinned, knowing he was annoying the heck out of his big brother, but then again… _that's what little brothers do._

"So, Shrek's your new best friend and can do no wrong?"

"I didn't say that. Let's just wait and see what the story is," Sam replied.

"Let's see, she already told us, _he's a serial Santa-napper, Sammy!_ That ever cross your mind as you watched the big ol' green dude bantering with Donkey?"

"Settle down, Dean, before you blow a gasket." Sam turned and gently asked, "Fiona, where is he?"

"Promise you won't kill him?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You're hunters, aren't you?"

The brothers stared dumbstruck at each other.

After an interminable wait, Sam finally uttered, "Well, yeah. But how'd you know?"

"When I realized he had John Winchester, a hunter, I knew more would come. I just want to protect my husband. Please don't kill him."

"You've heard of John Winchester and hunters?"

"Of course. That is what you do, isn't it? You hunt ogres? You only hunt _evil_ ogres, don't you? Shrek's not evil, he's just hurt. He so wants the kids to love him now. He just wanted to be Santa and he couldn't stand the thought of all those others being what he couldn't."

Dean was again almost speechless. _Almost._ "He stole all the other Santas 'cause he was jealous?" he asked with wonder.

"You don't know how hard it is to be different. To be a freak and not fit in," Fiona explained, hoping for a trace of compassion from the brothers.

Dean grimaced, childhood memories bubbling to the surface. "Yeah, well I wouldn't be too sure about that. He hasn't exactly cornered the market on being a freak." Then Dean grinned and slapped Sam on the back. "Hey, just ask Sammy here."

Fiona looked into Dean's eyes and saw the pain of being different gazing back at her even as he tried to hide it with humor. His jokes couldn't hide the truth and she felt a comfort from the familiarity she saw there.

"You're not going to kill Shrek?" she gently asked, wanting verbal confirmation of what her heart already knew.

"Come on now! I'm not going to kill Shrek! What kind of person do you think I am?"

Sam nodded in agreement, relieved the culprit had been revealed and the Santas were obviously safe from harm.

"Well, you are hunters. I just didn't know… thank you."

"You're welcome. Fiona, where are they? Will you take us to our Dad?" Sam asked.

She silently nodded and led them down the hallway to a lime green door. Fiona motioned the Santas could be found inside as she pulled a key ring from her pocket and unlocked the door. Dean slowly pushed the door in, still uncertain what they would find within, both brothers on hunter alert, poised for any danger that might present itself. Five distinct human voices and the familiar toon voice of Shrek wafted out to them as the door to the Santas' prison opened.

"Inkle Diamonds."

"Seven Clubs."

"Pass."

"Pass."

"Eight Diamonds."

"Good hand, huh, John? Pass."

"I'm out."

"Damn it, John, you know I can't make nine…, pass."

The 'prison' was filled with the sounds of easy, bantering chitchat, raucous laughter, and the crunching of chips and the clanking of beer bottles. The brothers peered into the room to witness the five missing Santas in assorted levels of undress casually sitting around a large wooden table playing cards with the familiar big, green ogre!?!?! _What the hell????_

John looked up from his hand and motioned to his sons, "Hey, boys. You made it."

"Dad?" they spoke in unison, identical perplexed expressions on their faces.

"Come on in. Let me finish this hand wouldya? Best hand I've had all day."

Shrek smiled at his wife Fiona and seemed happy to have more visitors, motioning them forward with a wave of his hand and a belch from the depths of his gut.

"Sam and Dean, Season's Greetings! You found us. John said you'd be along shortly. Your dad's mighty proud of his boys," the ogre bellowed.

"Oh, really?" Dean curtly responded, confusion mucking up his brain. _What else is new? I'm beginning to feel like the old brain is just so much pea soup._

"Dad, what the hell are you doing?" Sam dismissed the pleasantries and dove right into the inevitable confrontation.

"Sammy, settle down. Just give us a minute. Dean, watch your brother, will ya? The guys and I just need to finish this one hand." John reached for the widow and drew up the additional cards, placing them in his hand and discarding the extras. He then led out the Joker and started drawing in his winning tricks, carefully stacking them in zig zag piles on the table in front of him.

He finished playing out all his cards and counted up his tricks. "Nine. Guess we know who's king of the hill now. Huh, boys?" Dean and Sam both turned to address their dad before they realized the 'boys' he was referring to this time were the rest of the card playing Santas.

"Why don't you boys play a little four handed while Shrek and I talk with my sons? Oh, I almost forgot… let me introduce you all." John motioned around the card table, "Boys, this is Mario, Chris, Pete, and Jose and I think you know the big guy, Shrek."

He then walked over to his sons and stood between them, grasping his arms around their startled shoulders. He nodded to his shorter son, "This is my older son, Dean. Top-notch hunter. Excellent marksman and a great tracker, and as you can probably tell, well at least if you ignore the elf suit, one hell of a ladies man." He then nodded to Sam, "And this here is my younger son, Sammy. Gonna be a lawyer. Has a full ride scholarship to Stanford, but now he's back in the family business. Yep, he's the brains of the family, but always ready for a fight, huh, Sammy?"

Sam stared at his dad with a distant look. His body language signally his disapproval of their current situation. "Yeah, right, Dad, and for the record, I'm just working this one case." _And if I'm ready for a fight it's with you…, you inconsiderate, selfish, old man!_

Both boys eased out of this stranger's embrace. His hands like ice taking hold of them with frostbite, making them shiver and burn from his touch. They stood back warily watching for signs of possession. John's eyes appeared normal, but then again, the eyes don't always tell the story. John was acting anything but normal.

"Dad," Dean started, his voice catching in his throat, unable to face the possible truth of this possession.

"What, Dean?"

"Dad, why are you acting so _strange?_ I mean… you didn't even _try_ to escape?" Dean voice sounded so young and childlike, so uncertain and scared.

"Escape? Why would I? Got a great bunch of guys here, good food, free flowing beer… you know how long it's been since I had a good game of cards, other than poker? It's nice just to play for the fun of it…, not have to worry about bringing home the bacon. You know, not many card games for three. You boys really missed out growing up."

A still came over Dean, the still before the storm. _No shit, Dad! We missed out on a lot growing up, the least of which was playing stupid card games!_

"Yeah, a few more games of Five Hundred or Pinochle would have fixed everything, Dad. Family game night woulda turned us into the Bradys," Sam snickered.

"Not hardly, Sammy. Not enough kids for the Bradys. More like the 'Courtship of Eddie's Father' with another kid, or 'My Three Sons' less one son. Hmmm, any shows with a dad and two sons?"

"Not really sure about that, Dad. Let me get back to you after I check the TV listings," Sam mocked.

"Yeah, do that and let me know…, Oh, how about 'Leave it to Beaver?'" John got a huge grin on his face, his dimples deeply amused. "Guess that makes you the Beav, Sammy."

"Great, Dad."

Dean had been trying to process the cold, hard facts. As the reality sunk in, the disbelief and betrayal tore at him. "So, Dad, you've just been playing cards with the other Santas? Not even trying to escape?"

John's face was deep in concentration, before shaking it off in response to his older son's question.

"I told you, Dean. Great bunch of guys and I couldn't let them down. If I'dve left there would have only been five again. Hardly any card games for five, except poker and… " John leaned in and whispered, "couple of the guys didn't want to get into gambling… they have past… " and his fingers hooked in the air with imaginary quotes, "issues."

Dean's voice cracked just a tad, his eyes sick with worry. "Dad, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Dean… It's only a card game. I'm still Dad…, just new and improved."

"Cristo."

"Oh, Dean, that's a good one. Good news…, not possessed." John's laughter only drove his sons' suspicions. "I suppose now you're going to hit me with the holy water?"

Sam nervously fingered the bottle in his pocket, awaiting the word.

"Sam, hit 'em."

Sam splashed the entire bottle of holy water in Dad's face. John stood with an amused expression on his face and serenely took it, no steaming, no screaming fits of agony… just water running down his face and dripping onto his t-shirt.

"Satisfied? You know, I did take a shower this morning. Shrek has marvelous accommodations. You need to try the mud baths, better than those hoity-toity, expensive spas."

"Just like in my swamp," Shrek happily added.

As their father stood dripping before them the boys stood speechless, unable to process this last piece of insanity.

Dean's hand raked down his face and massaged his temples. He finally broke the deathly still that consumed them, fervently grasping for some fragment of logic that would explain this bizarre twist.

"Alrighty then, so if you had no intention of escaping why'd he take your clothes?" he ventured as he stared at his dad dressed in his boxers and a t-shirt. His dad's calves not nearly as muscular or defined as his own. _Guess Sammy really does take after you, huh, Dad? Aw, shit, why am I even noticing that? You need to get a grip, Winchester. Calm down. Breathe. _

The other Santas were also in similar stages of undress, clad only in boxers and t-shirts or in faded pink long-john underwear; _you know, the embarrassing kind with the stupid flap in the back._

"Oh, this?" John motioned to his state of undress. "No, Shrek didn't take our clothes. He's not a clothes-napper, for godssake! He's just having a little trouble controlling the temperature. Just a might warm in here. We figured, what the hell, just us guys… Oh, sorry, Miss Fiona, that is until now… Well, anyway… We were just getting comfortable. You know, guys will be guys… Just hanging out. Shrek provided some great perks. We watched the Cowboys play on Monday Night Football. Big screen TV and surround sound too."

"Dad, do you know how worried we were? And you're having a freaking vacation?" Dean gasped.

"Nah, it's more of a retreat. Hawaii's a vacation, maybe Tahiti, yeah…, This is more like playing hooky from school, or calling in sick to work. No harm, no foul."

Which could possibly be the most regrettable remark John had made to Dean in at least the last month.

"You know the last person to say that to me threw me out a twentieth floor window?"

"Damn," John grimaced. "That's gotta hurt."

Dean stared at his dad, or this image that looked like his dad. "You think?"

"You look good though, son. Must not have done too much damage."

"Yeah? Dad…, what were you thinking? If I'd pulled this little stunt you'da ripped me a new one," Dean yelled, furious with his father for the first time in his life. His anger finally let loose on the man he had always worshipped.

John's face assumed a blank, innocent expression. "Huh? Something wrong with the old one?"

That was enough to push Dean over the edge and bring him to a point he had thought could never be reached.

"Dad, don't you ever go missing again, 'cause I'm not gonna come looking," he spat out, his fury all-consuming.

John sighed at this petulant child of his and confidently replied, "Yes, you will, son."

"NO, I won't."

"We'll see. Boys, you want some drinks? How about a beer or you want some coffee? I could use some coffee. Walter, can we get some of that delicious Starbucks coffee?"

Dean and Sam looked over and saw Walter, the nerdy artist, staring back at them from the corner of the room. He quickly went to work with his sketch pad and before they knew it he was drawing steaming cups of Starbucks coffee.

His timid voice then asked, "John, you want the special Christmas blend?"

"Yeah, Walter. That's fine." John turned to his startled sons, "You gotta try this new flavor, just a smidge of cinnamon. Really makes it feel like Christmas, you know?"

TBC


	9. Joy to the World

Chapter Nine – Joy to the World

Dean was angry, _angry at Dad_, which was a turn around for the Winchesters. Sam actually got a taste of what Dean's life had been like up until this point, being the mediator and trying to keep the peace.

"Come on, Dean. Everything turned out fine. Dad's safe. We got him and the rest of the Santas back, and the job is done. Piece of cake."

"Sam, butt out."

Fierce eyes glared at Sam, no door cracked open for discussion. Just leave him the hell alone because when Dean got like this, well… self-preservation dictated you back off and let him be. With Sam's silent retreat, Dean turned all his fury back on the one who warranted it.

"Hell, Dad, don't worry about us going out of our _freaking_ minds! **What is wrong with you?"**

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? Ease up there, Dean. Relax. I can't say I'm too crazy about this new tone of yours."

"Really? 'Cause quite frankly, I don't give a damn."

"Come on now, Rhett. Simmer down." The smirk on John's face was so asking to be wiped off. _And Dean just might be the elf to do it!_

Joking in Dean's face under these circumstances was not the wise move. Dean can joke in the face of danger, hell, that's how he copes… with pain and fear and life, but don't expect him to accept your jokes. That was asking too much and Dean wasn't in the mood for giving, not now.

Sam grabbed his brother around his chest and held him back…, held him back as much for Dean's sake as Dad's. It suddenly appeared Dean might follow his brother down that frightful road to a knock down, drag out fight with Dad over his neglect for his sons' feelings and that would surely be a sight to behold, not to mention a painful foray for Dean. A fast and furious Dean in his little elf suit punching out his oblivious dad in his underwear would ultimately only inflict more pain on Dean, not resolve the pain that already existed. _Man, this is too surreal._

"Boys, this is all my fault. Don't blame your dad."

Dean glared at the large, green ogre.

"Butt out, Toady."

"Look, your dad just needed a little break. You can understand that, can't you? Hunting's a tough life and once John came here he saw there wasn't any real danger, so the man relaxed a little. What's so terrible about that? It is Toontown, we don't believe in holding on to anger. Let it go."

"Yeah? So he took a vacation while we went crazy with worry?"

Dean shook his brother's grasp off and turned his back on his dad and this problem. His mind was whirling from all the conflicting emotions battering about trying to warrant his attention. Anger seemed to be winning out, but disappointment and pain were battling it out for second place… but then, what were those other emotions trying to break through? No, he wasn't ready to give in to those, not yet… NO! Hell, Dad needed to suffer, but there they were… love and forgiveness. _Damn it all!_

"Dean, I'm sorry. I guess I got caught up in the moment. Maybe my judgment lapsed. It won't happen again…. Boys, you gotta admit, it's kinda hard to stay mad in Toontown. Happiest place on earth."

_Son of a bitch, there it goes._ _Bye-bye_. Dean could almost see Roger's twirping little birdies flying off into the sunset with his anger.

_Hell, there has got to be something in the beer here. Maybe they should send a case to the United Nations? Maybe that's the answer to world unrest… Toontown beer! Or maybe they need to make Roger a peace emissary? They just better make sure to confiscate his hand buzzer first! Not everyone is as forgiving and tolerant as the Winchesters._

Dean was learning an important lesson here; one that would linger in his thoughts many times in the years to come, one shining revelation, one unyielding truth: it's damn hard maintaining your fury when confronted with the memories of morphing into an elf and taking up residence at the North Pole with your own father as the perfect Santa Claus. Compound that with Sam's startled expression as he realized the depths his family had sunk to and his hysterical tumble against the white chain railing and unceremonious landing on his butt in the middle of the fake snow and it was downright impossible. Funny, but all those memories hadn't seemed so funny at the time; but in retrospect, knowing it all turned out all right, that the case was solved and they hadn't even needed to do a salt and burn, let alone waste anyone, and suddenly this tiff with his dad seem all the more inconsequential.

A smile cracked on Dean's face, try as he might to withhold it. He raked his hand through his short hair and down his face and could no longer maintain his anger. He had to admit that between the cartoon loons and Joe's sage words of wisdom, he was having a hard time holding a grudge. Besides, the vision of Dad in his underwear playing cards with the other Santa hostages and this big, green lug, well…

…_.the way I see it, life's too whacked out to take seriously. You need to just loosen up and have a little fun, just take it to the limit. That's my motto. Trust me, it works. People tell me I'm crazy, but I have a good time. _

Dean never could stay mad at Dad or Sam, didn't have it in him. His job was to protect them and that included forgiving their faults and giving them the benefit of the doubt on countless occasions. It was what Dean did, _his purpose_, to pick up the pieces and carry on regardless of how life or his family treated him. "So, Dad, happiest place on earth, huh? I thought that was the North Pole at the mall?"

"Hell, I thought it was Disneyland! Guess everybody wants to lay claim to that honor." John laughed; relieved he had once more dodged the bullet. That Dean's overwhelming love and forgiveness for his dad had once again dismissed his transgressions. _Man, I love that boy! Now comes the hard part. _"Sammy, we all right?"

Sam hardly held the same capacity for forgiveness that Dean possessed…, especially when it came to John. Still, he was happy to have his family together again, safe and sound.

"I guess we're good, Dad. It is Christmas and I don't want to fight."

"That's my boys! So, whatcha think of this coffee? Sure is handy having Walter around. Anything you need? Anything you want? Walter can whip it up with just a sketch. Unbelievable, huh?"

"Yeah, Dad, unbelievable. So you think we should maybe get these fellas back to their lives?" Dean then turned to the card playing Santas, "Hey, guys, you ready to go home? Don't you have family or someone waiting for you?"

They all simply shrugged and muttered, obviously not in that much of a hurry to return to their average lives, that is all of them except Chris. He stood up and indicated he was finally ready to leave this little Shangri-la and return to the real world.

"I really do need to get going. I've truly enjoyed this time with you guys; and Shrek, I couldn't have asked for a more gracious host, but I do have a lot of work to get done before Christmas morning and I'm running way behind schedule."

"Alrighty then, time to go home, guys."

"Walter, can you draw them an entrance back to the mall? Is that all right with you fellas, or do you want to go some place else? Your choice," Shrek offered. "Sorry, if I ruined any of your plans, but I sure did enjoy the company. Come visit any time. Always welcome, huh, Fiona?"

"Of course, but maybe next time you could visit us at the swamp? See how great the real mud baths are," Fiona added, going from Santa to Santa warmly shaking their hands and bidding them adieu. "Take care, Merry Christmas."

John then addressed his host, "So, Shrek… what are your plans now?"

"Oh, don't know. Guess I'll just go back to the swamp; see what Donkey is up to. Spend a quiet Christmas there. I'm just gonna miss having kids around. Doesn't seem like Christmas without the kids." Shrek seemed genuinely disappointed, such a stark contrast from his initial attitude in his movie.

Dean snickered, "Well, you know, Shrek, you and Fiona could work on that and maybe fix that little problem by next Christmas. If you want I can give you some pointers." With that Dean winked and cocked his left brow as his dimples deepened.

Fiona blushed, light pink taking over the green of her cheeks as she shyly whispered, "Shrek doesn't need any pointers there. He does just fine."

"I bet he does," Dean sneered. "Huh, big guy?"

"Dean, what was that law Caleb talked about that got you your job as an elf? Think that could help Shrek get the job as Santa?" John inquired.

Dean smiled and nodded, "Yeah, right. The Equal Employment Opportunity Act says they can't discriminate because of color." He then gave a smirk. "Last I knew green qualifies as a color." He turned to the imposing ogre then, "Shrek, if you're still crazy enough to want to be a Santa at the mall, they can't deny you because of your color. Jeannie said you had all the other attributes nailed. You just need to stand up for your rights."

"You really think they'd give me a chance?"

"Why not? Once we explain the law to them, they have to treat you like every other applicant."

"No one ever treats me like everybody else. They judge me before they even know me. People take one look at me and think a big, stupid, ugly Ogre. They don't see the real me. Ogres are like onions, we have many layers."

Dean wrinkled his nose at that. "Onions, huh? That have anything to do with the smell or just that eyes water when you're around?" Then Dean smirked again, remembering the legend of Bloody Mary. "Hey, better that than bleeding eyes, right?"

"Dean, cut it out," Sam admonished his brother.

Mock irritation filled Dean's voice. "What?" escaped his lips in a guttural grouse.

"Dude, you're one to talk. You've been described as having a few onion layers."

A baffled look flashed over Dean's face. "What? By who?"

"Boys, I'm getting a headache, just simmer down."

John and the rest of the Santas were almost dressed. Five round, jolly Santas presented themselves to the stunned gaze of the brothers Winchester.

Dean perused the Santas before him and a grin yanked up the corners of his lips and again brought out the majesty of his dimples. "Damn, we better get Shrek an outfit. With six you get egg roll!"

Walter had just put the finishing touches on his latest sketch and presented the opening back to the mall. All of the Santas then exchanged warm embraces, slaps on the backs, and words of farewell and stepped back into the real world… all except Chris, who stood back silently waiting.

"So, Walter, how did you come up with these skills of yours?" Sam inquired. "And why are you working for Shrek?"

Walter stammered for a moment, his feet shuffling aimlessly across the floor. He cast a hesitant look at Shrek, almost asking permission to speak, too timid and scared to respond as all eyes were cast upon him.

Shrek offered a wave of his hand then, allowing Walter free speech. "Go ahead, Walter. Tell them."

"Well, I guess it's a family tradition. My grandfather was the first to use the talent. He was an artist and he used his talent to save his life in World War II."

Dean laughed then, "Yeah, I suppose he was on a plane with no landing gear and he just drew… "

"Exactly! How did you know?"

Dean's expression was a mix of earnestness and astonishment with a touch of compassion for poor Walter. "'Cause it was a TV show, Walter. Make believe."

"No, it was true!" Walter became more agitated as he witnessed the familiar doubt on their faces. He continued on with bitterness in his words, "Oh, yeah, _I forgot_…, gotta accept what The-Powers-That-Be say, huh? Yeah, right! Spielberg didn't steal my grandpa's story, no, no, no… at least that's what the lawyers said. Just a coincidence. You know what they say about the powerful?"

"Wow, sorry, um… too bad about your grandpa, but why help Shrek Santa-nap the Santas?" Sam asked, sensitive doe eyes offering up a measure of sympathy.

Walter looked at Shrek for moral support, his fragile state overwhelmed by the eyes upon him. Shrek stepped in and continued the story.

"Walter is my friend. He worked on my movie with me and we hope to do a project he has mapped out. He was just doing a buddy a favor."

"Huh! Alrighty then. Now that the Million Dollar Question has been answered, we ready to blow this popsicle stand?" Dean still looked on in wonder, but he'd had enough of Toontown for the time-being and was ready to move on.

John nodded, ready to head on back to the duties of a hunter, his temporary respite ending with one last look around this sanctuary that had sequestered him from all care and worry for a mere two days, two days of bliss in a life of turmoil.

"Let's do it."

Chris was still waiting patiently for an opening to speak privately with Dean.

"Psssst. Dean, over here." Chris motioned him over.

Dean heard a whisper and turned, puzzled for a moment as to why Chris would be singling him out.

He motioned to his chest with a wide-eyed, puzzled look on his face. He mouthed his Taxi Driver response, "Me? You talking to me?"

"Dean, could I have a word with you?"

Dean silently stepped back from the conversation and walked across the room to confer with Chris.

"Dean, you do make a mighty fine looking elf. So how do you like the gig?" Chris inquired.

Dean was a little put off by Chris' inquiry, never one to talk about himself, especially with someone who was a mere acquaintance; but somehow Chris had a familiar, easy presence. His twinkling eyes and jolly smile just instilled confidence. Of course, he was a dead ringer for Santa Claus, didn't even need the fake beard and mustache, obviously cultivating his own facial hair for years just to play his part well.

"You know, I wasn't so sure at first, but I think it's turned out pretty cool. Not what I ever would have expected, but good," he honestly answered.

"Glad to hear you say that, son. You know, this little Santa-napping has put me way behind schedule on my duties. I sure could use some help."

"What kinda duties you got there, Chris?"

"Oh, just the usual. Helping make the children's Christmas special. It is that time of the year, to spread the joy of Christmas to the world. Thought maybe you'd like to help me out with that. Whatcha say? Willing to help an old man try to make some kids' Christmases happy?"

Dean smiled, remembering how great he felt when he made Sammy's Christmas so memorable back when his brother was only six years old and still believed, and how proud he was to help that little boy at the mall get the toy he really wanted instead of that stupid educational game his Nazi mom wanted for him.

Surprising himself with his quick answer, Dean replied, "Sure, Chris, I can help out."

"Good, I'll pick you up tonight. Make sure you wear the outfit."

"Hey, you need to know our motel?"

Chris chuckled, his whole body jiggling as the laughter rolled over him, "Of course not. I know where to find you."

--------------------------------------------------

"Jeannie, you can't discriminate against Shrek because he's green, that's protected by the Equal Employment Opportunity Act and the anti-discrimination laws," Dean cautioned.

Jeannie looked startled. "Oh, we don't discriminate; we have lots of African-Americans working here at the North Pole."

Dean considered slapping her upside the head, but thought better of it. _Baby steps… you've just got to explain it to her so a child could understand. _ "Well, that's good to hear, but you've got to take it a step further, Jeannie. You can't discriminate because of _any _color. If the guys from Blue Man Group come in looking for a job, you better judge them on their merits, not their color. That's the only fair thing to do and I know you want to be fair."

"Of course. Gosh, Dean, I never realized. We just didn't want to startle the kids."

Her high pitched whine was in itself startling to Dean. _I thought I was rid of that when I escaped Toontown. I am going to be so glad to leave this particular North Pole in my rearview mirrors. _"Look, Shrek is a movie star. He doesn't want the kids to be confused by that, so he's decided to wear make-up to cover his greenness and hide his true identity."

"Oh, really? They have make-up that can do that?"

"Yeah, the industrial strength kind. Trust me; no one will realize he's green. He's gonna look like every other Santa."

"He did have all the other attributes nailed. He truly will look like a regular guy?"

Dean chuckled, "Actually he looks a little like Ernest Borgnine."

"Oh, my, sexy too? Ernie always did make my heart race."

_Hmmm, the things you learn about people…, awkward... _

John and Sam walked up then, just in time to hear the good news.

"Alrighty then, so he's got the job?"

"Sure does. With the color situation under control, I think he's gonna be just fine, and we sure do need him. Would you believe Hector left us to work at Dairy Queen? Didn't like the kids climbing on him and something about free ice cream. I tell ya, no loyalty anymore. I think Shrek is going to be the best Santa we've ever had."

John's face scrunched up and he muttered under his breath, "Huh, talk about loyalty. Looks like there's _a new kid in town_."

Dean gazed at the dejected look consuming John's face and commiserated with his dad. It was hard finding out you were yesterday's news.

"Hang in there, Dad. You might be headed for a _heartache tonight_, drinking whiskey _all night long_, only to wake up in the morning to a _tequila sunrise_, but you'll survive. Damn it, I know it's a lousy way to spend a _Saturday night_, drowning your sorrows at _the sad café_, but we're with ya."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, do ya think you can stop spouting Eagles' songs now?"

"Huh? Oh…, _sorry_. Hard habit to break, they just seem to fit into the conversation somehow."

"Uh-huh." Sympathy was again evident in Sam's eyes, and his thick mop of hair swung into those eyes as he compassionately shook his head, side to side.

The look of pity ticked off Dean more, if possible, than his complete disbelief, and he _knew_ what Sam was thinking.

"You know, I don't care what you think, Sam. I met him."

"Uh-huh."

"After all the shit we just witnessed, you mean to tell me, you don't freaking believe Joe Walsh rode the bus with me?" Dean's eyes were wide and sincere, behind the obvious pain, and it _almost _made Sam believe.

"Sad part is I believe _you_ believe, Dean." Sam then turned to John, "Dad, I hate to say it, but Dean's been under a lot of stress and I think maybe he could use some help, you know, dealing with it."

John turned to his older son, compassion reeking through his voice, "Dean, what is it, dude? You know I'm here for you. Your brother and I only want the best for you."

"Well how about you start by believing me? I'm not crazy. I mean… this is precious… we just saved all these Santas from Shrek and a cartoon manipulator that can make things happen just by drawing a picture and concentrating and then… oh yeah, right, we spend two days in Toontown…, a place that's only supposed to exist in the movies….but yeah, that makes total sense…., and _I'm_ the crazy one 'cause I say I rode the bus with Joe Walsh?"

"Sorry, bro. I gotta believe what I see with my own two eyes; your little fantasy there…, not so believable."

"Damn it, Sammy! It is the freaking TRUTH!"

"See, Dad, unhinged."

"I think you're right there, Sammy."

"What? Maybe you two are the insane ones. You ever think of that?" Dean fumed. "Remember, _Dad_ was the one acting crazy back at Shrek's 'party'."

"Total denial."

"Oh, hell."

"Dean, settle down."

"Emotionally unstable."

"Yeah, Sammy, I _definitely _see what you mean."

Sam leaned in and whispered softly, "He let someone take a picture of him in his elf suit."

John's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, "That seals it. Dean you're getting checked out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Winchester men sat watching the stream of kids anxiously awaiting their turn with the new Santa at the mall, _a very convincing Santa._ He was large and jolly and his booming voice resonated with the joy of the season. Shrek had found his true calling. The movies were so impersonal, so distant. This was his joy, interacting with the children and bringing them joy.

"Well, boys, I guess our job here is done." John noted, oddly feeling at odds and out of place without his Santa suit. Once more dressed as his sons were, in jeans and t-shirts, common clothes for uncommon men.

Dean grinned his mischievous smile, "Yeah, Dad, I guess we saved Christmas."

John smiled a quiet, pensive smile, lost deep in thought.

"Do you miss it, Dad?"

"What, Sammy?"

"You know, being Santa, making the kids dreams come true. Do you miss it?"

John sat pondering the question; it truly hadn't entered his mind until his youngest asked. Now faced with the reality, he suddenly realized that the answer was _yes_, he did miss it. _I never would have believed it, but yes._

"Yeah, Sammy, I guess I do."

"So, Dean, how about you? You gonna miss playing dress up or you want one more shot at it?" Sam asked with a look that proclaimed he had taken a page from Sylvester's playbook and was stalking Tweety Bird.

"What you got in mind?"

"I was thinking about the kids at the orphanage. You know, maybe we could swing by Christmas morning, make sure they have the Christmas they deserve."

Dean smiled as he contemplated that thought. He again remembered his previous _best _Christmas, that last Christmas where Sammy still believed. He remembered how important he felt making it real for him. How Sammy's smile had lit up the morning when he saw the tree that he spent half the night decorating, and then how thrilled his brother was with the meager presents he had managed to scrape together for him.

It wasn't much of a Christmas in relation to some of the extravagant Christmases some people give their kids, but it was all they had and it turned out to be enough. It was something for Dean to hold onto all these years; especially when later Christmases were spent in cold, impersonal motel rooms or out in the wild on a hunt. The memories of that Christmas were always with him, warming his heart whenever he lost hope.

"You know, I think I could give the old outfit one more go round before we put it in moth balls. I'm in. How about it Dad? You still have a little Santa left in you?"

John looked at his sons and smiled; half out of joy that they were all safe and reunited for one more Christmas and half out of nervous regret over all the lost Christmases that never were and could never be recaptured. The demon once more exerting an ever present negative influence over their lives; once more robbing them of the simple joys of life.

John now seeing how he let those moments pass in his focus on battling evil, not realizing at the time how much he was surrendering to it. Perhaps this was a second chance to reclaim those moments, to again have Christmas with his sons. One last hurrah before Sammy returned to school and he and Dean returned to the hunt.

"I think Santa is up for one more gig." And with that it was agreed and all three Winchesters smiled, ready to embrace the Christmas spirit for the sake of the kids and perhaps for themselves.

"Well, I'll have to meet you guys there later; I promised Chris I'd help him on Christmas Eve. Don't know when we'll finish up."

Sam looked at his brother with a curious glint. "Help him do what, Dean?"

"Uh, just…, you know." Dean sheepishly looked around trying to cover his embarrassment.

"Dean, you're going to play elf? Aren't you?" Sam's smile broadened and it looked like Sylvester had finally captured Tweety Bird. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"Smartass," Dean growled before his dimples deepened and his eyes sparkled under arching brows, his familiar smirk displaying how pleased he was with himself. "Guess that's why you're going to the big fancy school, huh, bro?"

TBC


	10. Sleigh Ride

Chapter Ten – Sleigh Ride

After getting Shrek situated in his new job as Santa at the mall, and embarking on a monster shopping spree, taking full advantage of their mall discount while maxing out their fraudulent credit cards, the Winchesters finally settled in for a long night of hard work. They had gathered an impressive array of gifts for the kids at the orphanage and were putting the master plan in motion as they assembled the bicycles and assorted toys that were scattered in every available nook and cranny of their cramped motel room.

As he adjusted the brakes on another bicycle and checked that the wheels were stopping smoothly, John looked up at his older son and smiled at his nervous energy. _Hell, you'd think he was going on his first date. _Dean was dressed in his elf outfit anxiously waiting for Chris to pick him up for his Christmas Eve duties.

"So what time is Chris picking you up?"

"Don't know. Didn't say."

Dean was distractedly playing with his elf hat, twisting the non-chiming bells, contemplating whether to just rip them off altogether. Thank God they didn't tinkle anymore, but they still looked stupid _and if one more person mentions my bells are broken then I'm liable to just haul off and…_

Sam was unfolding the instruction sheet for the next new toy on the assembly line, his eyes scanning the instructions with an intensity previously withheld for research. He looked up and grinned at the vision of his big brother and inquired, "So Dean, you sure he knows which motel we're at?"

"Should. Said he knew where to find me."

"That's odd, don't you think?"

"Huh? Well I'm sure Dad told him where we were staying."

Sam turned to their father, "Dad, did you?"

John was deep in concentration, trying to make sense of his toy's intricate assembly instructions. Directions a rocket scientist would have crumpled in his fist and cast against the nearest wall in frustration. _The age descriptions on these boxes are just an insult, plain and simple. Ages 8-10. Yeah, right! Einstein at eighteen couldn't have followed these instructions. Welcome to the world of Christmas Eve preparations!_

"What? You say something?" He looked up, his mind still perusing the labyrinth directions printed on over four pages, single spaced.

"Dad, did you happen to tell Chris what motel we were staying in?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

Dean didn't have time to react to this new information as a loud knock shook their motel room door.

"Must be Chris."

"Looks like." Dean opened the door to reveal the cheery Santa wannabe dressed in his elaborate outfit looking like the Coca-Cola version of the jolly old elf himself. Chris walked in; his eyes taking in the mounds of toys scattered across every flat surface in the small motel room, and smiled his approval at their efforts.

"Looks like Santa has more helpers tonight. John, you must have caught the Santa bug, didn't you?"

Sam grinned at that. "More like an epidemic. I think Dad and Dean both have a terminal case."

"There are worse diseases to catch, right, gentlemen? Dean, you set to go?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. You want me to drive?"

"You offering me a ride in that classic car of yours?"

"Sure, plenty of room."

Sam couldn't resist one more dig at his brother, "Dean, you going cruising in the Impala in your elf outfit?"

"Face it, bro, I've got a better chance of picking up girls dressed like Pee Wee Herman then you do dressed in your best duds."

"Funny you should mention Pee Wee, I have noticed a resemblance."

"Sammy, you're just so damn witty, my freaking sides hurt."

Sam grinned his goofy schoolboy smile. "Huh, I thought it was your feet that hurt? My mistake."

Dean offered up his standard look of exasperation and turned his attention back to Chris. "So, I'm driving then?"

"She is a beauty, no denying that, but I think I'll drive. Already have everything loaded. Maybe you can take me for a spin later?"

"Sure, Chris. Anytime."

They walked out of the motel room past the Impala parked outside with a U-Haul truck parked next to it to transport all the toys to the orphanage, and continued across the parking lot, passing a dozen empty parking spots. Dean had no idea what kind of vehicle Chris drove, but as they reached the end of the parking lot and Chris had still not indicated where he parked, curiosity overcame him.

"You parked around here, Chris?"

"Just over that hill there, had to find a clearing big enough."

_Clearing? Big enough? Okie, Dokie!_

Dean followed along while his hunter instincts planted the seed that maybe Chris wasn't as he appeared. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but as much as Chris seemed normal and reasonably sane, he suddenly felt a nagging doubt that perhaps it was all an illusion and he was just another loon two beers short of a six pack. He hoped not, and if anything, Chris came off as a sincere, pleasantly sweet old man dedicated to bringing the joy of Christmas to the kids. _Hell, that's something we can all get behind. Right? _

If he was being honest about it, all the Santas had reacted a bit strangely back at Toontown, not just Dad. Dad had snapped back to his old self, _well mostly_, but the rest of them, well… Dean didn't even know what their 'old selves' were. Chris appeared to be a nice, harmless old man fulfilling his Christmas dreams…, _please don't let him turn out to be a rubber room duckie swimming in a fog induced fantasy world._

As they mounted the rise, Dean heard the loud clanking of antlers against antlers and the ground shook with a rumble, pulsating beneath Dean's little elf shoes. His hunter instincts kicked into overdrive, _something wasn't right here_. _Perhaps it was something… supernatural?_ Chris seemed to sense his growing unease and reached out to touch his forearm with a reassuring pat.

"Believe, Dean. Just believe."

Dean was at the crest and turned to question Chris at that moment, "Believe what?"

Chris stopped and Dean felt his own feet shuffle to a dead halt, his eyes torn from Chris' proud parent smile and down the hill toward the stately sleigh and eight, rather large, imposing reindeer harnessed to it, pawing the ground in anticipation. Dean blinked twice, shifted his shoes and almost stumbled, slipping a few feet down the slope, his elf shoes losing traction in the slick grass.

"Oh my God! Chris, where did you get this?" The wonder was evident in Dean's voice… wonder and awe. "How in the hell did you get it here?"

"Just swooped in and landed. I know it might be a bit of a shock, but we're already behind schedule and we really should be going."

The 'believe' comment rattled around in Dean's head for just a moment before he quickly dismissed it; this was just an overzealous Santa imposter fulfilling his own personal version of Christmas. Dean was humbled by Chris' dedication _and to be honest, a little scared by it. He feared the loony bin was beckoning his new friend._

This was one impressive sleigh: long shiny silver runners, a large black two seater chassis adorned with dozens of brass sleigh bells and topped off with a huge bag of toys that was overflowing the backseat, the bag tied high at the top with a leather belt drawn tight. The crowning touches were the eight magnificent reindeer adorned with fancy halters with their names blazed in red into the hand-tooled leather.

_Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen. Comet, Cupid, Donner and finally Blitzen. Chris was nothing if not… what's the word? Obsessive/Compulsive? I mean this… __this__ was a sleigh worthy of the real Santa Claus!_

_And those reindeer? I mean just taking care of them all, feeding them and shoveling the poop?_ _Major dedication… or insanity! The verdict's still out on that one!_

Dean was scrunching his face in concentration, the gears whirring. "Chris, does it have retractable wheels or something? I mean if it was on snow then it might glide, but never on this grass. Man, you really are serious about this Santa stuff, aren't you?" _Kinda extreme, don'tcha think?_ "You know, most of the kids are gonna be asleep, won't even see this."

"Oh, they're not supposed to see. Have to maintain the mystery. That's where the belief comes in."

"Yeah, right." Dean nodded while his eyebrows arched and a nervous laugh escaped his pursed lips. "Like I said Chris, this is cool…, _really_, but if we're behind schedule then maybe we should just forget the niceties and take the Impala? There's plenty of room and we can get all the gifts delivered quick and easy. Whatcha say?"

"Dean, you dissing my ride?"

"No, Chris, never. It's just it would be a lot easier… "

Chris once more touched his arm to instill confidence. "I know she's not the Impala, but she has some muscle in her." Chris heartily laughed then, "She may not be a V8, but she's a R8, which is actually more powerful. I think we'll stick with my ride."

Chris proceeded on down the hill and was calmly talking to the lead reindeer, stroking his shoulder with a firm movement. "Dasher.., boys… this is Dean. He's going to be along for the ride tonight. We can use all the help we can get at this point."

Dean descended the hill, watchful as his freaky elf shoes continued to slip on the uneven terrain. He chuckled to himself, debating his next move. He had agreed to help out an old man delivering Christmas packages, not baby-sit someone who rightfully belonged in a padded room.

_Alrighty then, might be best to just play along. I mean it's not like Chris is dangerous or anything, at least I don't think so…, besides I think I can take him if the need arises. Kris Kringle in Miracle on 34__th__ Street thought he was the real deal too. Just a harmless old man living out his dream. What's the harm?_

Dean tentatively reached out and stroked the lead reindeer's head, its fur coarse and prickly to his touch. The reindeer's large, expressive eyes took in the sight of this overly tall elf, and Dean could swear it winked at him. "Hey Dash… how ya doing, fella? So, Chris, do they bite?"

"Only if you've been naughty."

Dean jerked his hand back, his eyes revealing his guilt.

Chris laughed a deep, hearty laugh making his belly dance like a bowl full of jelly. "Not that kind of naughty, Dean." His lips turned up in a smirk and his eyes sparkled with delight. "I mean, that _was _consensual, right?"

Dean's eyes grew wide and he averted Chris' steady stare, "Of course, but you said… "

"You're over twenty-one, what you do in the privacy of …."

Dean cut him off. As much as he liked Chris, he wasn't really in the mood to discuss his sex life with him, especially with him being dressed as Santa Claus. _Majorly awkward._

Baffled by the sight before him, Dean decided to play it cool and calm. "So Chris, what exactly are your plans for tonight?"

"I told you, make Christmas special for the children. Come on, son. Get in. We're still running way behind. We won't finish up until dawn if we don't get moving. I usually have a couple extra hours to just enjoy the evening. We may be cutting it rather close tonight." Chris motioned to the sleigh and moved past Dean and climbed into the left side.

_Yeah, figures he gets to drive._

"It is my sleigh."

"What?"

"You were wondering why I got to drive. It's my sleigh."

A perplexed expression consumed Dean's face, his eyes questioning, while his mouth twisted into a familiar smirk as he muttered, "All righty then, _Missouri._"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing… sorry," Dean muttered as he offered his most innocent expression.

"I know you don't mean any harm, Dean; but maybe if you showed a little more respect and a little less snarkiness, Missouri wouldn't have given you such a hard time."

Now didn't that just leave him speechless? Not sure where Chris got his information and at this point not really caring, Dean made the decision to play along and not upset the elderly gentleman. He carefully climbed into shotgun position and sat down.

"Better buckle up," Chris cautioned as he took the long leather reins in his massive hands, the supple leather gripped tightly between his fingers.

Dean smiled a cocky, what-the-hell grin and leaned back in his seat, contemplating which smartass comment he would have for Chris when they continued to sit there in the grass under the full moon of Christmas… going nowhere.

Chris snapped the reins and yelled out, "On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen! On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen."

The reindeer started moving in tandem and the sleigh jerked forward, Dean felt a slight movement as they lifted off. Suddenly his assessment of the situation skewed, veering into left field. _Oh, hell!_

"We're flying?" he shouted, startling himself with the terror in his voice.

"That _was_ the idea."

Dean was now faced with the reality of his situation. He was freaking flying!... through the air!... with Santa Claus?!?...

In a panic he wrestled the reins from Chris and pulled back hard, quickly depositing them back on terra firma. He was off the sleigh in a flash, standing beside the offending vehicle, relieved to once more have solid ground under his little elf feet.

His face displayed all the confusion, uncertainty and bafflement of a man faced with the impossible, and for Dean Winchester not much was impossible or incomprehensible, but this….

"You're… " _Hell, I can't even think it, let alone say it._ He steeled his mind and conquered his voice and with a low whisper asked, "Santa Claus?"

"Yep."

"But I… no… _you_… no… NO… not possible."

"Au contraire, my good man."

"Son of a bitch!"

"Dean, I thought of all people, _you_ would understand."

Dean shook from the absurd idea of delivering presents on a flying sleigh with Santa Claus. _This can't be freaking happening!_

Of course, maybe reality wasn't… _real?_ For the first time in his life he was unsure if what he was witnessing with his own two eyes was real or just the manifestation of a psychosis. Was he insane like his brother and dad seemed to believe? His mind raced with the silent question whether this was truly happening or if he would wake up any second now in a psyche ward with Nurse Ratched trying to stuff funny white pills down his throat while he sat on a hardass sofa staring at a blank TV screen pretending to watch a World Series game while the rest of the crazies stared blankly at him. _Whew! Yeah, Winchester, you have finally lost it. Jack, I'm a' coming… save a seat on that couch, will ya?_

_Calm down, calm down, calm down. Just breathe. That's it, just breathe. Just give me a minute… All right then, rational investigation. Just like any other job. But damn! Where the hell do you start? I mean… we were freaking FLYING!!!!!_

His voice hardly sounded like his own. It was soft and low and so hesitant, so expectant, yet scared of the answer and he honestly didn't know which would be better: to be with the real Santa Claus and about to embark on a flying adventure or to be insane and possibly facing the rest of his life in the loony bin. The insane bit would at least mean a rest from all the evil and terror of his life. _But who would take care of Sammy then? _"Chris, is this real? Or am I…, like.., insane?"

"Hardly. Come on, take a walk on the wild side. You know you want to believe."

"Maybe, but that doesn't mean I'm sane. Now, does it?"

Chris' eyes twinkled and the grin on his lips lit up his entire face. "Sanity is vastly overrated. You know, Dean, the way I see it, life's too whacked out to take seriously. You need to just loosen up and have a little fun, just take it to the limit. That's my motto. Trust me, it works. People tell me I'm crazy, but I have a good time."

Dean stared in disbelief at Chris, unsure if he could trust his own ears, unable to comprehend hearing those same words, yet again. _Is someone trying to tell me something here?_

"Uh, Chris… you happen to know a guy named Joe?"

"Joe? Of course, great guy, one of my favorites."

Dean was rolling these thoughts and images around in his mind, debating reality against fantasy, truth against lies, belief against concrete evidence. _I've seen some crazy things in my life, but this? _The practical, analytical hunter finally confronted with the seemingly impossible, yet wanting to explore it, desiring at long last to just release his fears and doubts and embrace the moment and revel in the good feelings for a change. _Damn it, it is Christmas! Maybe, just this once, I can believe. _

_Sanity problem resolved, or at least temporarily shelved. Now, onto the next problem…._

"Uhhhh, you know, Chris, maybe I'm not the elf for this gig."

"Nonsense, I think you're perfect for this gig. Why else would I pick you?"

"Chris, I'm kinda… you know.., not really big on… _flying_." Dean whispered it, hating to admit to any fear, let alone an average human's fear. _I mean, I confront Demons, ghosts, creatures of the night, beings more terrifying than your worst nightmares and a little thing like flying… but damn it, planes crash!_

"You don't like to fly, Dean? Why not? It's fun!"

"Yeah, right… You know the old saying… what goes up, must come down and not necessarily in one piece." Dean's eyes were growing larger with every breath, his face reflecting his abject terror.

"Oh, I see. A little fear of the flight?"

"FEAR? Nah, just cautious. I've always preferred _road-_tripping. How about we take the Impala? She sure can fly on the open road."

"Sorry, Dean. We have to go places the Impala couldn't navigate. Dean, remember, planes may on occasion crash, but have you ever heard of a sleigh falling from the sky?"

"Well… _no_… but I never heard of Toontown before… outside of the movies…, never believed in Roger Rabbit and Shrek actually existing. Strange world we live in. Maybe it's like that UFO at Roswell.., government cover-up? Huh? Huh?" Dean was becoming more agitated with each passing minute. Just the idea of flying in a sleigh _up in the sky _ was enough to bring out beads of sweat on his brow.

"Dean, trust me. I've been doing this for years. Totally safe. Never lost a sleigh in all these years. And you're safe too, never lost a helper either."

"There's always a first time." _I __am__ kinda lucky that way._ Dean was nervously pacing, his eyes darting about looking for a way out. "I already took a twenty floor drop, not looking to beat my record."

"You won't. Dean, trust me. You like the Peter Pan Ride at Disneyland, don't you?"

"Ah, wouldn't know. Never been to Disneyland."

Chris looked at his young elf in total disbelief. "You've _never _been to Disneyland?" His tone indicating that was bordering on criminal or something.

_Not Dad's fault. It's not like he didn't try, but something always came up. Hunting obligations kinda took precedence over doing the Southern California tourist thing. I really pushed when Sammy was eight 'cause yeah, I'll agree a kid should see Disneyland at least once, but shit happens. That year we almost made it and then… what was it? Oh yeah, a homicidal transgenic mutant in Seattle, followed by a poltergeist in Tampa, then a thought projection in San Antonio and well, you get the point…._

"Not the end of the world, Chris. No biggie."

"Yes it is, Dean. That's a pity, a damn shame. Everyone needs to go to Disneyland… Happiest Place on Earth."

Dean again grinned nervously at the familiarity. "So I'm told. But a little confused here, isn't the North Pole the happiest place on earth?"

"Well, of course, but you know we also do a heck of a lot of work there. Christmas for all the kids around the world doesn't just happen overnight. It's a logistical nightmare. Thank goodness for Mrs. Claus and the organization we've put together."

Dean flippantly replied, "Runs like a small army, I suppose."

"Good analogy, Mrs. Claus is the General and I'm the grunt."

"Really? She runs the show, huh?"

"Dean, we're getting off topic. We really need to get going. Please get in the sleigh."

"Chris, I don't know if I can," Dean confessed, his trepidation causing his heart to fiercely beat in his chest, his lungs barely able to drawn in breath, his nerves on edge waiting for disaster to strike.

"Dean, I promise it will be all right. Trust me."

Chris' eyes sparkled and his sincere smile instilled confidence. Facing this challenge head-on, just like every other trial in his life, Dean took one last deep breath and boldly stepped back onto the sleigh. _How can you doubt Santa Claus?_

"Chris, I hope you're right about this, 'cause if you're wrong… I'm gonna kill you." _No brag, just fact._

"Threatening Santa Claus?" Chris chuckled, "You might be finding a lump of coal in your stocking come Christmas morning."

"Honestly, Chris, at this point as long as I'm _alive_ Christmas morning I could give a rat's ass what's in my stocking," Dean smirked.

Chris again took the leather reins in his strong hands, snapped the leads and the sleigh took off into the air. Dean grabbed hold of the side of the sleigh and his feet shifted nervously against the floor board, once more trying to find firm footing. They climbed steadily into the air and the houses and cars below diminished into distant ants. The calm of the evening would have been tranquil and relaxing except for the fact that Dean was miles above solid ground, _flying._

Dean had always hated flying from as far back as he had conscious thought concerning the strange ability of several tons of metal to stay suspended in mid-air. He was still a young boy when he first realized his aversion to flying, and the abject terror the thought of actually stepping aboard a plane brought. Thankfully with three in the family and no funds, flying had never really been an issue. He swore to himself long ago that he would never, ever fly and yet, here he was in Santa's sleigh _flying_ through the night. _Oh God, please don't let us crash. _For the first time in his young life, Dean Winchester actually prayed; _at a time like this you best cover your bets!_

As the flight continued uneventfully, Dean started to relax ever so slightly. The wind on his face and the majesty of the night was lulling him into a peaceful ease. He had just determined that maybe this flying bit wasn't too awfully bad when disaster struck.

They had been to countless houses, landing on the rooftops (amazing how a sleigh so large and obviously heavy could land like a feather on the various precipices of roofs, with no ill effects) and had delivered tons of presents. The strange part was the sack in Santa's sleigh never seeming to reduce in size, magically swelling back up to its original girth no matter how many toys were removed. Chris had estimated they were halfway done with their duties, making good time, and perhaps if their luck held he could show Dean a few sights before dawn.

They climbed back into the air and were moving at a good clip when an obstruction appeared in their path, a huge weather balloon or so it seemed. Chris later revealed he dealt with numerous attempts each year to expose him, mainly with photo radar units modified in an attempt to capture the jolly old elf in the act.

The weather balloon appeared suddenly without any warning and Chris took swift evasive action, the sleigh turning almost sideways from his efforts to avoid disaster and Dean in his relaxation simply slipped right out of the sleigh and was falling, just like in Toontown only Roger wasn't there to break his fall and he was perhaps at 10,000 feet… 9000 feet… 8000 feet… the ground was rising up to meet him… just.. like.. before..

"Man overboard," Chris yelled.

Dean was screaming, _not very manly I know_, but there were no witnesses save Chris and eight not so tiny reindeer, and _damn it_ he was falling to his death… again! His heart was beating so fierce in his chest he could feel his hoodie straining from the pressure. His throat constricted and his screams ceased, unable to breach the lump that had formed there depriving his brain of oxygen. His eyes were watering, not from tears, but from the force of the air whipping across his face as he plummeted to the ground. His eyes hurt from the friction and he tightly closed them determining once again that what he couldn't see might not hurt him. _Yeah, right! Like that's ever worked before? Still, my options here are… what shall we say? Non-existent! I'm going to __die__, no ifs, ands, or buts… Goodbye Cruel World! _

Chris righted the tilted sleigh and looked down at his missing elf, flailing about as he descended toward a brutal end.

"Damn, we just got him on board! We can't lose him now. Hard left, dive!!!!!"

The sleigh swooped down below the falling Winchester and before Dean could mentally make out his last will and testament he plopped back into the seat beside Chris just like Obi-Wan into Anakin's stolen speeder in Star Wars Episode II - Attack of the Clones.

"Don't worry, son. I've got you."

Dean grabbed hold of the side of the sleigh and his fingers dug into the soft leather of the seat beside him as he tried to still his wildly beating heart. He'd known fear before, one might say it was a constant companion; but no terror was greater than the fear of being dropped out of Santa's sleigh and plummeting to your death, only to have your life flash before your eyes with your epitaph lamenting your passing as the flattened corpse found and mocked as the elf who fell from the sky. _Man, I can read the headlines in the Weekly World News now: __**Santa's Elf falls from sky and dies in vineyard. Christmas cancelled while world mourns. **_

Damn, he just _saved_ Christmas; he'd hate to be responsible for traumatizing all those impressionable kids now. Not to mention, the dying part. I mean it's one thing to die facing a frightful creature, to die battling evil… but to die while on a joyride with Santa 'cause you forgot to buckle your seatbelt, well…

"Dean, you all right? I can't tell you how sorry I am about that. Never happened before. I really wish you'dve buckled up."

Dean took several minutes to insure his voice wouldn't crack and then he reassured his host, "Not your fault, Chris. It's a dangerous gig, sometimes bad things happen. Quite the moves you showed back there. You saved my life."

"You don't know the trouble I would have been in if I'd lost you on one of my runs."

"Trouble with who?"

"Everyone answers to someone, Dean. I have a higher power to answer to and He has some mighty important plans for you. I sure don't want to mess that up. Not to mention, I like you."

"Plans? What kind of plans?"

"Shhhh, it's a secret. Shouldn't have told you that much. You'll find out when the time is right, but for now… you up to delivering the rest of these gifts?"

"Sure, Chris. Just no more evasive actions, deal?"

"Deal!"

The rest of their route ran smoothly. Smooth sailing and smooth operation, down the chimney to deliver the gifts while the kids in the house peacefully slept dreaming of lollipops and candy canes. Everything was working out perfectly, as it was meant to. They even ended up with a little over an hour to spare, just like Chris had hoped for.

"Come on, Dean, I want to show you Europe. Have you ever seen Big Ben or the Tower Bridge on the Thames? Oooooo, and you have simply got to see the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe lit up at night."

"Uh, no. Never been across the ocean. Good thing we didn't drive the Impala, huh, Chris?"

"Yes, indeedy. Mighty fine car, but I think it lacks the uplift for this job."

TBC


	11. Deck the Halls

_Thank you to every reader and every reviewer. This has been a wonderful experience and I hate to see it end. Forgive me if I get a little sentimental with our Winchesters, but remember it is Christmas and they deserve a little happiness after giving us so much pleasure, not to mention saving all those innocents!_

_You are hereby forewarned that in addition to a few laughs, there are some tender moments in this final chapter. My Winchester Christmas is filled with a few songs, a touch of magic and there is even a hug or two! What can I say? I'm a sentimentalist, just like John… but gosh darn it all, they need some emotional bonding time! Kripke has his Christmas tale to tell, and I have mine! LOL Merry Christmas to all! Thanks again, B.J.!_

Chapter Eleven – Deck the Halls

"Chris, you want to come inside and see the kids? Give you a chance to see what Christmas means, up close and personal."

"Why don't you go ahead, Dean? Your family's waiting. I'm just going to change into my street clothes first, don't want to confuse the kids with two Santas."

"I'm sure Dad would step aside, you know, for _you._ Hard to compete with the real deal!"

"Oh, but Dean, your dad and all the others Santas _are_ real. If the kids believe, then you're real."

Dean grinned, fond memories weaving into his thoughts. "Yeah? Like the Velveteen Rabbit?"

"You remember that story? You never cease to amaze me, Dean."

"Only read it a few hundred times, back in the day."

"It always was one of Sammy's favorites… yours too, if memory serves."

"You know all my secrets?" Dean questioned, a slightly hesitant smirk gracing his face while he awaited confirmation. He had finally accepted he couldn't hide, not from Santa Claus. _He knows if you've been good or bad, so be good for goodness sake!_

"Don't worry about it, Dean. All things considered, you're plainly on the side of good."

"Whew! Good thing your standards are R rated."

"You stretch the boundaries sometimes, but I do believe you've never broken through. You're a red-blooded American male. You know…, when I was younger… "

Dean moved quickly to cut him off. "Good to know, Chris." As much as he was loathe to discuss his own sexual escapades with Santa Claus, he sure as hell didn't need to hear Santa discussing his own exploits. _Not in this life!_

"Dean, you were a huge help tonight."

"I wouldn't have missed it, Chris." Dean laughed as he reconsidered, "Well, maybe the swan dive, but the rest was good, real good!"

"Do be careful out there, Dean. Safety first."

"You got it!" Dean grinned as he considered all the memories, the excitement and the joy. A concerned look registered on his face as he faced the prospect of it all ending. "You _are _going to come in and say goodbye to everyone, aren't you?" Dean asked again, not yet ready to let his new friend go. He hesitated, unsure what to say, just knowing he wanted to say something. He decided that while snarkiness may have been his trademark, this time straight-forward sincerity might work best. "Chris, thanks for tonight. I'll never forget it."

"Sorry, Dean, but I'm afraid you will."

"What?" Dean quizzed as his eyebrows arched and he leaned in, like he hadn't quite heard.

Chris waved his hand in front of Dean's face and a peaceful calm enveloped him. The stress and tension in his life seemed to disappear as his features softened and a youthful, carefree glow filled out his face.

"Dean, you were saying?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, thanks for letting me help you deliver the Christmas presents. It was fun. Anytime you need help, just give me a call." Dean hesitated briefly, before he continued on with a minor criticism, trying not to hurt the old man's feelings. "Next time though, I'm driving. That station wagon of yours, well, no offense, but it's an embarrassment. You might want to consider getting a new car, something not so ancient."

"Well, it's certainly not as fine as your Impala, but that old station wagon's been with me a long time, kinda has sentimental value, but I'll consider the suggestion. Dean, thanks for coming along. You were a tremendous help. You can feel proud. You made Christmas special for a lot of kids. I'll see you in a bit."

"Chris, it was my pleasure." As the Santa look-a-like walked away, Dean yelled after him, "Hey, Chris.., Merry Christmas." And then he grinned, wide-open and sincere.

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

Dean turned and bounded up the steps of the orphanage, his little elf shoes clicking against the hard cement as he took the steps two at a time. Being up all night delivering packages did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm for this Christmas Day as he barreled through the double doors leading to the common area and was greeted with the raucous, exuberant sounds of unrestrained glee.

The huge Christmas tree in the middle of the room was encircled by joyful kids trying out their new toys and happily chattering amongst themselves amid the remnants of colorful wrapping paper, ribbons and bows. John was decked out in his Santa suit sitting in a large arm chair by the window, a child on each leg smiling and giggling as he whispered in their ears, his rumbling laughter rising up and filling the room with more cheer. The joy of Christmas was vast and overpowering and Dean stood there for a moment just drinking it in, all of his senses seizing hold of the feelings that wisped and floated about the room.

Sam's voice echoed behind him and he turned to face a vision more shocking than that cross-dressing zombie who was desperately trying to continue his dream of being the number one female Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas before the Winchesters put him back in his grave. Dean furiously blinked his eyes, trying to ward of the exhaustion that had obviously carjacked his mind, as he was confronted with the next Guinness World Record holder for the tallest freaking elf that ever lived. _Damn, I thought I made a tall elf… I ain't nothing next to this Sasquatch freak!_

Elf Sammy wore bright red knickers with green and red, vertical striped knee socks which only served to make his calves appear even longer and leaner, _like that was even possible? _ His shorts were held up on his lean hips by suspenders embellished with tiny reindeer and his shirt was a deep forest green with more tiny reindeer prancing across its collar. His shaggy mop of brown hair stuck out in all directions under a matching red elf hat with the all too familiar tinkling bell at the very end of the long tassel. He too wore the freaky elf shoes, only his were two sizes larger than his brother's, almost big enough for Shaquille O'Neal, which was just this side of an ocean liner. Of course, the numerous bells on his outfit tinkled merrily whenever he moved, which was often as his manic energy propelled him from child to child insuring they were enjoying their Christmas.

"What the hell, Sammy?"

Sam reacted to his brother's voice with a jerk and a quick turnaround, followed by a proud pose as he showed off his outfit to his brother. He offered up his dazzling white, goofy smile as he actually did a Gene Kelly soft shoe impression, before twirling completely around and snapping into the 'ta-da' pose with his arms outstretched.

"Guess you have a little competition in the elf department, huh, bro?" Sam proudly smirked, obviously delighting in his new persona.

Dean's facial expressions traveled the gamut from disbelief to baffled to wonder and ended up at amazed. "What the hell? Sammy, where'd you get the outfit?"

"A friend of yours came through with an extra outfit, modeled after your original."

"Jeannie?" Dean chuckled, "She turn up an NBA pro that used to work at the mall?"

"Not hardly, the best she could come up with was a spare hat. No, I took the liberty of calling a friend of yours when I borrowed your phone last night."

"I thought you were calling Stevie to see if she wanted to come help out at the orphanage today. She have a spare elf outfit lying around the house?" Dean snickered.

"No, but I made a second call."

"Really? 'Cause, dude, you better not be running up my long distance." Dean appeared slightly threatening, but it was all an act which quickly faded as his curiosity took front and center, "So… come on… _spill_… Who'd you call?"

A new voice joined in the conversation. "He called me."

Dean whipped around to face another elf wannabe. Dean's smile was electric, beaming like a freaking spotlight lighting up Hollywood boulevard, while his body puffed up like a rooster proclaiming his obvious superiority as he basked in the tangible proof of his celebrity friendship. Standing before him was his new, best bud Joe all decked out in green knickers and purple and white horizontally striped socks, topped off with a purple pullover hoodie and a matching green hat with a large purple pom pom hanging from the tassel.

As thrilled as he was to see his rock idol, he suddenly lost his voice, floored by the vision before him.

"Dean, buddy, cat got your tongue?"

"No… it's just… _man,_ I sure didn't expect to see you… _here_." Wonder filled his face; this was most certainly the strangest Christmas he had _ever_ experienced. "I can't believe you came, and wow… your tailor sure did a great job on the outfits."

"Yeah, I had to put a rush on them, especially after Sam asked if I had an extra one for him. Couldn't leave little bro out of the fun, right?"

Dean then turned to his brother, wanting nothing more than to see his brother eat his words. "Guess you believe me now, huh, Sammy?"

"Uh… no… not really. Dude, get real." Sam chuckled and walked away, heading over to help out Santa. He momentarily stopped and turned back to speak to Dean's buddy, "Uh, 'Joe' whenever you want to start, just go ahead."

Dean's rooster deflated again, ready to be plucked and thrown in the pot for supper. _What's up with Sammy's 'tude?_ _I mean, Joe's here! Isn't that proof enough? What is wrong with him? _He turned to Joe, hoping for some rational explanation, some clarity in this fog that had descended upon him.

"So… Joe? What's the deal? What are you going to 'start'?"

"Our gig."

Shock was threatening to knock Dean out for the count. His face contorted, as his voice rose, "WHAT?"

"Yeah, me and a few of the guys are going to play a set for the orphans. Just a few Christmas tunes. Might sneak in some Eagles' songs."

"Wow! That's really unbelievable you would do that, give up your Christmas to give a charity concert!"

"Oh, it's not charity," Joe clarified, "Sam's paying us."

Dean swallowed and considered the ramifications of this, the dire consequences beyond this strange turn of events. Sam never wanted to use the fake credit cards, always felt guilty about them. You know… _not honest or something or other…, blah, blah, blah…, I believe he uses the term deplorable. _Still…, he'd agreed to use them to fill up Santa's sack, but paying Joe Walsh to play a gig with bad credit cards? _I'm going to kill him for this! _Joe was his friend now, one of his _few_ friends, and that friendship would have a short lifespan and end pretty abruptly when he found out he'd been cheated. _Damn it, Sammy!_

"Look, Joe. I don't know what Sam told you, but if he used a credit card to pay you… "

"Nah, he paid cash."

"Cash?"

"Uh-huh." Joe was smiling, very pleased with himself and their little transaction; quite content to be working this gig on Christmas morning.

"CASH? We don't have that kind of money. How could he come up with that much cash? I mean, I don't know what you charge for a private gig, but I'm pretty sure it's more than a value meal at McDonald's and that's about how much money we have."

"Really? 'Cause he already paid me… You're not going to starve now, are you?"

"No, of course not… but he... _paid you?"_ Dean was at a loss, where in the hell did Sam get that kind of cash? And why in the hell would he spend it on a band? Even a band fronted by Joe? _How amazing is that!?!? This is so freaking cool! _ Then the real world intruded and bitch slapped him back to reality…,Dad's gonna kill them when he finds out. _Doesn't Sammy know how much ammo that would buy? Oh, damn, we are screwed to hell and back!_

"To be honest, Dean, cheapest I've worked since my first band in the eighth grade."

"Really?" Dean weakly asked, hoping against hope Sam hadn't ruined what had been the promise of a great Christmas, _up until this little fiasco. _Almost afraid to ask, but steeling his hunter's calm he mustered the courage, "So how much is this little gig costing us?"

"Fifty bucks."

"WHAT?" he blurted out as he stared dumbfounded at his smirking friend.

"You heard me. And split between four guys, after our management and Uncle Sam get their cuts… we're not even gonna clear five bucks each. I hate to boast, but I think you got a bargain."

"Tell me about it! But who in the hell came up with fifty bucks? I mean that's ridiculous."

"Hey, it's what your brother offered."

"And he thinks I'm insane? Is he freaking nuts?"

"Not in the technical sense, but maybe in a good way. Look, this is going to be fun. Christmas is all about the kids and I love to play, so it's a natural fit."

"But why would he offer to pay you fifty bucks? I mean if he asked you to do the gig for free that would make more sense."

"Dean, it's like this, I guess he figures that's the going rate for impersonators."

"No, no, no… don't tell me he still thinks you're an impersonator?"

"Afraid so. So what do you say, we just let him believe? You know, Christmas is all about believing. How long do you think he'll hold out before he tumbles to the truth?"

"Knowing my brother, he's just pigheaded enough to hold on to the illusion for decades."

"Well, Dean, I guess I better get the rest of the guys and get ready to play. Want you to get your money's worth."

"Joe, thanks. This really is super of you."

"My pleasure. Hey, just reinforces all those people who figure I'm crazy anyway, huh?"

As Joe walked toward the stage, Dean looked up to see Chris returning to the festivities now dressed like a farmer wannabe. He had on jean overalls and a worn, red-checked flannel shirt, but he still had the unmistakable stamp of Santa on him. Maybe it was because Dean knew what was in his heart or maybe it was just the white, curly locks that flowed over his shoulders and cascaded down from his mustache and beard. _You can take the man out of the Santa suit, but you can't take the Santa out of the man!_

With a smile and a twinkle in his eyes, Chris motioned him over when their eyes met.

"So, Dean, I forgot to ask what you wanted for Christmas. What your family wanted."

Dean was startled and momentarily confused; he couldn't recall ever being asked that question before and he certainly had no clue how to respond.

"Huh? Christmas is for the kids, Chris. Nothing I need…, or want." _At least nothing a present under a tree could fulfill._

Chris seemed content to take his response at face value and moved on to a new topic.

"Fine job your family's done here. Fine job."

"Yeah, I think it turned out pretty good. So, Chris, can you stay awhile or is the Mrs. expecting you home?"

"Oh, I can't stay long… " the noise of Joe's makeshift band doing a sound check drowned out the last of Chris' words and Dean never heard, _but my job's not quite done._

They were standing directly in front of the speakers so Dean leaned in and shouted, "What? Sorry, couldn't hear you."

Chris smiled, patted his shoulder and motioned for him to go on back to his duties. Chris indicated he was going to try out the refreshments of milk and cookies. Dean could read his lips as he mouthed he was hungry from their long night of work.

Joe and his band were all set up and ready to start. They broke into a rendition of _Rocky Mountain Way_ and Dean marveled at the sound quality and the tight musicianship of the band. _Not the Eagles, but damn good! I wonder how long 'til Sammy realizes that no imposter would sound that great? I am never going to let him forget he doubted me._

Dean whistled and whooped it up, delighting in his front row seat for this momentous occasion. John and Sam joined him off to the side of the stage as they gathered to enjoy this Christmas morning concert. The Winchesters presented quite a sight, Santa and his two tall elves rocking away to Joe and his band.

Joe finished out the song to rousing applause, which heartened Dean's soul. _These kids may be orphans, but their appreciation of classic rock is outstanding! I knew adding all those classic rock CD's to the Christmas gifts was a good move._

"Thank you. You're a great crowd and it's an honor to play for you today. I'd like to introduce the band. Just a few friends I got together for this special gig. Randy is on bass, Charlie is on keyboards and Stoney is on drums… and me, I'm Joe. We have several Christmas songs we'd like to share with you, the first one being a favorite of mine. This is the Eagles' cover of a great Christmas tune, I think you may have heard it a time or two on the radio around this time of year. Henley couldn't make it today and I would never sing one of his songs, not that the man holds a grudge or anything, but… Dean… would you come up here?"

Dean froze in his little elf shoes, as his brother and dad pushed him towards the stage. His freaking elf shoes held no traction and just glided along the floor as they pushed.

"Guys, stop it."

"Then get your butt up there, son," John scolded.

"What's going on?"

Sammy was laughing and having a jolly old time with this new turn of events. "Joe said he needed another singer and I told him how you're always singing in the car… "

"You did WHAT?"

"Come on, Dean, since when have you been shy?"

"This isn't singing in the car or even singing at a high school dance…, _this is Joe Walsh!"_

John and Sam were on either side of him and their expressions were identical as their skepticism showed. "Yeah, right!" they proclaimed in unison.

Dean staggered onto the stage and Joe wrapped his arm around his shoulders, pulling him back toward the mike.

"Hey, buddy, relax. Once you get the first one under your belt, you'll be fine. Trust me. People may say we're crazy, but I guarantee you, we are going to have a good time!"

Dean looked out at the cheering kids, obviously enjoying this concert immensely and then his eyes focused on Chris who silently gave him a thumbs up. Next his gaze settled on his dad and _damn, if he didn't look proud_. His last glance was toward his brother who just mouthed the words, "Go on, you can do it." Sammy grinned that huge, open, nothing-can-hurt-you-while-I'm-around smile and Dean relaxed.

"Joe, feel free to kick me off the stage if I embarrass you."

"Not a chance, Dean. Your brother said you had a voice that would put Henley to shame."

"Not hardly, but if you want to give it a try, I'm game."

"All right, folks, let me present our new lead singer, Dean Winchester." He then turned to Dean and checked, "You know the words to the songs?"

Dean confidently smiled, years of studying the lyric sheets and singing along over miles of highway had prepared him well for this gig, almost as well as he was prepared as a hunter. "Yeah, Joe. I know the words."

"This is a little tune called _Please Come Home for Christmas_."

The band started into the familiar Christmas song and Dean stepped up to the mike, closed his eyes and started singing; his voice deep and rich as the melody and the poetry of the words flowed from his soul. The crowd clapped wildly at the first bars of the song and then quieted down, mesmerized by the sounds emanating from the stage. Dean relaxed and forgot the world was listening as he was once more in his element, surrounded by the familiar comfort of his Impala, blazing down the highway, his family safe beside him, doing what he knew best as his strong voice rose to the rafters.

When the song ended he was momentarily startled back to reality as loud applause and stomping greeted him instead of the familiar click to a new song on the tape deck. Joe gave him a look of approval and his heart soared. _Man, it doesn't get any better than this!_

"Hey, we'll have to keep you in mind if Henley decides to retire to Walden Pond."

Dean again stepped up to the microphone, "Nobody does it better than Henley. Nobody."

Joe smiled. "Maybe, but that was damn good, Dean. All right, let's rock this house!"

The band tore into _Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree_ and Dean swung into action. He lifted the microphone from the stand and started to work the stage. Moving from end to end he rocked out the old song, drawing the crowd into a frenzy. As they finished out that song, they immediately went into the slower tempo of _Blue Christmas. _

It was quite a sight to behold, Dean in his little elf suit, channeling Elvis. He put a low, southern drawl into his voice and all the females in the audience swooned. The little girls and every grown woman present, from the barely twenty teacher's aide to the eighty-three year old matriarch of the orphanage, melted in his sensuous gaze as he sang strictly for them, each and every one of them hoping they were the one who could lift his blue feelings and make his Christmas memorable.

John stood staring at his older son with a silly grin on his face, words couldn't express the joy he felt at seeing Dean excel at something other than hunting for once and to top it off, actually be getting positive feedback for it. Sam always knew Dean liked to sing and yeah, he could carry a tune, but this? Not in his wildest imagination would he envision his brother performing with a live band like this!

"So, Dad, where'd he get it?"

John was lost in his own world of pride and amazement. "_What?_ What did you say?"

"This." Sam made a sweeping motion with his arms, pointing to his brother on stage commanding the crowd. "Where did _this_, come from? Did you know he was this good?"

"Don't look at me. I couldn't carry a tune in an ammo can."

"So, where? Did you have any idea he could do this?"

John paused, remembering… "Your mom had a beautiful voice, like an angel." Tears welled in his eyes as he tried to hold on to the good memories, and ignore the pain of how it ended.

"Dad, I'm sorry." Sam fell all over his words, never before witnessing the raw pain in his dad's eyes like this. Not wanting to add to his grief. "I didn't mean… I never knew… you just… never said. I know…, bad memories."

John smiled then, the good memories winning out, the sound of Mary's voice filling the silence that had descended on the crowd as the song ended and the band adjusted their instruments. John could hear her voice as plain as he had just heard Dean's, a voice so soft and sweet, so pitch perfect.

"No, Sammy. Good memories."

"Really?"

"Yeah…, _really_. Don't be sorry, Sammy. I'm the one who's sorry. There's a lot about your mom you don't know, I never told you and I should have. It's just hard sometimes."

"I know… So she sang?"

"Yeah! Beautiful voice, like fine crystal, perfect and pure. You know how when you tap a piece of fine crystal you can tell the quality from the tone? Your mom was the expensive crystal and your brother has her gift. She used to sing to him every night when she put him to bed." Sam smiled as his dad continued on, lost in the memories. "She sang to you too. As soon as Dean could talk, he started singing along with her, just little ditties, limericks really. To hear them sing together was magical."

"Wow. You just never talked about it before."

"Sammy…, it's just remembering the good times… well.., it makes me miss having her around. She would have been so proud of Dean tonight. So proud of both her sons. I don't tell you enough, but you turned out good, Sammy." John placed his hand on Sam's shoulder and gave a squeeze, his eyes tearing up with love.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?"

"What? No, no, Chris. Glad you could join us. You and Dean get everything delivered?"

"Oh, yes, John. Your son was a huge help, and you and Sam certainly have accomplished wonderful things here." Chris turned to Sam, admiring his elf getup. "Sam, outstanding outfit! Glad you could partake of the festivities."

"Couldn't let Dean have all the fun."

Dean and the band then resumed their concert, playing a lilting rendition of _It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas_ with Joe and Dean harmonizing.

"You must be very proud of your boys, John."

Sam beamed and John nodded.

"They're good boys," John proclaimed.

"Yes, they are. You all do good work. I know it's hard, but your job is very important."

Sam paused and looked at Chris with a quizzical look. _What does he know about our jobs? Aside from us searching out the missing Santas?_

A little girl ran up to Sam motioning for him to lean down, and then she whispered in his ear. He excused himself and took her hand and walked away. Chris then continued on, "So John, tell me, what's on your Christmas wish list?"

John laughed. "What? You looking to deliver more presents?"

"It _is _Christmas. How many presents you open today?"

"Christmas is for the kids. I sure don't need anything."

"I'm not so sure about that, John."

John paused; his mind considering what his heart's desire was, then quickly dismissing it as impossible. "There's nothing in your sack for me, Chris. But, maybe my boys, you know, might want something… never gave them much of a Christmas before… just never… "

Chris shook John's shoulder in a firm embrace. "Don't dwell on the past, John. You and your boys had a tough road to travel and you did the best you could. You kept your family together and you taught them well. No regrets."

John again smiled, rejoicing in this moment in time, this respite before the next battle. Dean finished out the song to more wild applause and the band immediately played the intro for _The Christmas Song_.

Chris smiled broadly. "Oh, one of my favorites. John, you have a favorite Christmas tune?"

"No, not really." John hadn't really thought about it, it had been so long. Still his mind went back to their last Christmas as a family. Dean was three, almost four, and John was dressed in a Santa suit then too. The look in Mary's eyes after they put Dean to bed… how she had leaned in and kissed him, laughing as his Santa beard tickled her face… memories, warm and tender, so dear to his heart. "No, Chris, no favorite tune."

"John, take care of your boys… and yourself."

John stepped back into the present, his memories still right there on the surface but starting to retreat back into the sacred, safe place where he held on to his wife and his life before evil came to stalk him. He embraced the kind man beside him, offering a bear hug and a firm pat on the back. "Chris, you take care. Maybe we'll see you around again, sometime."

"Count on it. I'm going to keep my eye on you Winchesters."

Sam returned then and Chris put his arms around his shoulders and gave him a hug. "Take care, Sam. Remember, family comes first."

Sam grinned at hearing the familiar words Dean was always spouting, that John had drummed into them their entire lives. "Family's important, Chris, but I've got to live my own life."

"I know, but life sometimes works its way out the way it's supposed to be and you may not have a choice in the matter."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Sam. Just enjoy this time with your family, that's all I'm saying. You take care, Merry Christmas."

"You leaving?"

"Have to get back to the Mrs. Tell Dean goodbye, would you?"

"Sure."

Dean looked out from the stage and saw Chris leaving. His eyes followed his new friend to the door and then Chris turned and locked eyes with him. Chris gave a short salute and a wink and left the building.

"Folks, we're going to take a short break. We'll be back in fifteen. Have some more of those delicious home-baked cookies and milk that Santa and his reindeer couldn't finish off," Joe announced as the band left the stage.

Dean grabbed a bottle of water and was startled by his family as they came to congratulate him on his performance. He was experiencing a high like he did when they were on a hunt and he had just vanquished an evil son-of-a-bitch, only this high was based solely on pleasure, not on pure adrenaline followed by a release from conquering evil. This high was like he'd felt many times in the past when he'd witnessed Sam accomplish something spectacular, but it wasn't the vicarious thrill from his brother's success. This was his first experience feeling the thrill of succeeding on his own merits, because he was _good_ at something, _something besides hunting_.

His family need not say anything to him, the looks of pride and joy on their faces spoke volumes as they slapped his back and rattled on, their words lost in the jumble of sounds competing for his mind's attention, the actual words not as important as the meanings behind them. _Damn, this is freaking awesome!_

"Guys, there's a few presents under the tree there with your names on them," Joe informed them as he wandered past on his way to those cookies.

"What?" All three Winchesters gasped in unison.

They slowly walked over to the tree to investigate and sure enough, presents with their names on them were stacked there undisturbed.

"Sam, did you see these before?"

"No. I could swear all the presents were already opened."

"So where'd they come from?" Dean asked, his eyes wide with wonder as they looked around the room searching out an interested party, guiltily watching their discovery. Everyone in the room seemed distracted by their own concerns, no one paying any mind to the Winchesters and their find. Dean smirked then, "Well Sammy, here's your chance to play elf. Go ahead, distribute the gifts."

Sam bent down and pulled the small stack of presents from under the tree. The first one was a small package addressed to Dean. He handed the box to his elf brother.

Dean smirked and shook the box. Hearing no sounds, he turned the box over again, feeling the weight, or lack of weight in his hand. "Light as a feather, can't be anything good."

"Why's that, son?"

"First rule of presents, Dad. The bigger and heavier they are, the better."

Sam snickered, "Looks like you got screwed then, big brother. Kinda small and lightweight. Maybe you ought to just give it back?" Sam reached to take back the present.

Dean smacked his hand away. "Keep your monster paws off my present. There's always exceptions to every rule." Dean then started to unwrap the present, carefully sliding his nail under the tape and releasing the edge of the paper.

"Just open it, Dude!" Sam exclaimed, tired of his brother's slow tease. He reached to help and Dean again swatted his hand.

"I got it! Get away. My present, my time, wait your turn."

John smiled at the antics of his sons. They had received so few presents in their lives and he knew Dean was just trying to make it last, trying to file it away as a good memory. _Damn, I hope the present's a good one, after all this suspense._

Dean finally managed to get the small package opened and then he had tissue paper inside he had to dispose of. He was beginning to wonder if the box was empty when he spotted the contents lying on the bottom. His eyes grew wide with disbelief as he extracted the items.

"So… what is it?" Sam asked, not able to distinguish what his brother had clasped in his hand.

"Man, I freaking don't believe this."

"Don't make us wait all day, what is it?" John added.

"Three tickets to an Eagles concert."

"I didn't know they were touring."

"Me either." Dean then looked at the dates and his eyes darted from his family to Joe who was passing by with a handful of cookies. "Joe, when are the Eagles going to tour again?"

"We haven't decided, but soon… we hope. Why?"

"Nothing." Joe continued back to the stage to check his guitar and Dean quietly smiled. "Wow!"

"Dean, what is it?"

"These tickets are dated two years from now."

"A sick joke?" Sam asked, but his brother was already shaking his head no.

"I don't think so. I'm betting these tickets are going to be worth a mint when this date rolls around. Fifth row, center. I'm thinking we're going to be at the concert of our lives in two years. Mark my words."

"Huh! Better mark your calendars, boys, would hate to get busy and miss it. All right then. What's next? What else is under that tree, Sammy?"

Sam grinned that huge, happy contented smile. "My turn, and my package is bigger and heavier. According to Dean's rules, that means better."

"Yeah, Elfie? Sorry, but that theory was just blown to hell 'cause there ain't nothin' better than Eagles tickets. Dude, whatever you get just can't compete. Might as well get used to disappointment," Dean mocked while he waved his tickets in his brother's face.

Sam quickly disposed of the wrapping on his package and literally jumped with glee when he saw the title on his book, Springfield High School 1997. As his brother reached to see what the book was he turned away from him and quickly thumbed his way to the index in the back. He quickly found the listing he was searching for and turned to the page indicated.

"Oh, man, this is so much better than Eagles tickets, great as those were. Well, bro, you made it! You are captured for all perpetuity."

"Perpe… _what?"_

"You're famous, immortal." Sam turned the book slowly around for his brother and dad to see. "You had the best calves of Springfield High School class of 1997 and just look at the spread you got."

Dean Winchester warranted a full page spread. There was a quarter-page, full color shot of his calves with that freaky girl's face fawning over them, her eyes wide in wonder and _lust!_ Around the shot of his calves was a montage of pictures of him in various, unsuspecting poses, mostly looking like a sullen rebel without a cause, brooding and mysterious. The dangerous allure of this bad boy drifter obviously driving the girls in this high school mad with desire for the short time he attended.

The most comical aspect was this appeared to be Dean's own personal yearbook, which was strange considering he never purchased a yearbook. His name was printed on the inside front cover and there was a litany of hand-written messages from countless girls, detailing how adored and treasured he was.

_I will always love you, Dolly_

_Near, far, wherever you are, I believe that the heart does go on. Once more you opened the door, and you're here in my heart and my heart will go on, and on…, Love always, Rose_

_Time heals all wounds, but your love is a festering sore that will never heal. Xoxo Steph_

_You're no good, you're no good, you're no good…, but I still love you, Linda._

_You are so gorgeous it's blinding, like looking into the sun. All my love, Starla_

_Those calves of yours make me weak in the knees. The power, the definition, the sheer manliness. Just awesome, Randi_

"Okay, that's it! Who _are_ these girls?" Dean shook his head in wonder.

Sam placed his hand on his brother's shoulder in stoic support. "You don't remember them?"

"We were there two months! _Come on!_ What is _wrong_ with these girls?"

"Guess you just have a way with people, son."

"Yeah, but they don't _know _me! This is how stalkers are born. Good thing you got us out of that town, Dad."

"Right, son. Who knows what those girls would have done to you otherwise."

"Damn straight."

"Yeah, they might have assaulted your calves; you know… felt you up."

"Laugh it up, elf boy."

John was thoroughly enjoying his sons' antics; their light-hearted exchange a breath of fresh air in contrast to the cruel realities of their dreary lives. After their banter died down he redirected their attention to the task at hand, "So, Sammy, one more present there. Who's that one for?"

Sam reached down and retrieved the last present and grinned.

"This one's for you, Dad."

John looked ill at ease. "I told Chris there was nothing he could give me, nothing I wanted."

"You think Chris left these?" Dean asked, puzzled by that thought. Yet, something was niggling in the back of his mind, just out of reach, some notion that he should _know _who left these, but he couldn't quite pull the information to the front.

"What? You were thinking Santa Claus?" John scoffed.

"Hey, I don't know…, _maybe_." Dean couldn't believe the words came from his mouth. _Where the hell did that come from? Like I believe in Santa Claus???_

"Why don't you open it, Dad?" Sam was still holding the present, pushing it toward his dad who finally, reluctantly took it.

John turned the package over and inspected the other side. _Huh, same as the first side._

Dean smirked, obviously delighting in the unease his dad was feeling. "I don't think it's gonna bite. Might as well just get it over with, Dad."

"Might be something good. Dean and I certainly got what we wanted."

Dean offered his brother a startled look. "Yeah? Why you'd want my high school yearbook is beyond me, but… hey, whatever floats your boat."

"Just more ammunition, Dean. Blackmail is sweet."

"Yeah, like I care what some weird fangirls think?"

"Might try being nicer there, Dean. You don't know what some of those fangirls are capable of in their twisted minds. What they would do to you if they got the chance… violence, torture, sexual deviations… "

"Hey, the sex stuff might be interesting, whatcha think they have in mind?" Dean's eyes danced as his tongue rolled over his parched lips as they turned up in his wickedest smirk, his mind playing out his own wild fantasies.

"Hard to tell, might be too kinky even for you. Maybe you best beware what you wish for… you never know with these fanatics."

"Enough about Dean and his sexploits that a father really doesn't want to hear about. I thought I was the one opening my present?" John joked.

"Hey, by all means, Dad. Open away."

John tore off the paper and opened the plain white box. After pulling out tissue paper he extracted a small, rubber Mickey Mouse figurine only an inch and a half tall.

Dean smirked at his dad and cast his brother a sideways glance as if to say, _you seeing what I'm seeing? _"Alrighty then. You have a secret you want to reveal here Dad or has this Secret Santa just got you pegged all wrong?"

"Got me," John replied as he continued to dig through the tissue paper. His fingers finally found the true gift. Three park-hopper passes to Disneyland.

Dean's smile deepened. His dreams of taking baby brother, Sammy, to Disneyland looking like they were finally going to be realized and that joy surpassed the glee he had previously held for his favorite sex fantasies. Only Dean Winchester could go from an oversexed teenager to an excited Mouseketeer in two heartbeats.

"Disneyland?" Sam gasped as he stared at his beaming brother. _Is he a man or just a great big kid at heart? How can he be this excited about Disneyland? Oh, God! Please don't let him get those mouse ears!_

"What's wrong with Disneyland?" Dean questioned, offended by the superior tone of his brother.

"Nothing, but… little late, don't you think?"

John smiled slow and warm, his mind replaying all the times he wanted this for his boys, never believing they would be grown men before it happened. "I guess it's never too late to realize a dream."

"So when are we going?" Sam cautiously asked.

"Soon. You boys have waited long enough," John proclaimed as Dean happily nodded in agreement, while Sam looked on in stunned silence. John then took a firm tone, the familiar sergeant barking out orders, demanding his grunts toe the line, "And let's set some ground rules. No shoving in line, no bickering over who gets to sit up front, and one healthy meal per day."

Dean and Sam looked at each other, their eyes in silent agreement.

"Damn, he's beginning to sound like a father."

"Yeah, or a tyrant. Hard to tell," Sam added.

Dean quickly dismissed John's new fatherly attitude and got to the most important point. "And we have to ride Peter Pan's Ride!"

John and Sam stopped joking and looked at Dean with very serious expressions, _like maybe he was… Crazy?_ In unison they both exclaimed, "What?"

Dean sheepishly looked at them with those open, earnest eyes, his mouth turned down into a slight frown, his dimples nervously flashing above his lips. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason. You have something you need to tell me, son?"

"No… but don't look at me like that… all right?" Dean continued to stammer, the eyes upon him burning holes through his heat sensitive skin. _Truth is, I don't know where that came from, it just came out, but…_

Joe rejoined them and slapped Dean on the back. "Sorry to interrupt, but Dean we need you back on stage. We have some requests and dedications to do."

"Sure, Joe. I'm ready."

Disneyland and all future plans of what rides were mandated were cast aside as Dean returned to the stage with Joe and they set up with the other musicians ready to start the second half of their show. John excused himself and wandered over to an alcove on the side wall, pensively looking out the bank of windows, wishing once more that things could be different, _that Mary…_

Joe returned to the microphone to thunderous applause. "Thank you, you guys have been super. I have a special request for Dean to sing a certain Christmas song. This one is dedicated to John and Mary."

Dean looked up with distress as Joe turned and whispered in his ear, imparting more painful images. He vehemently shook his head _no_, his eyes betraying his hurt and confusion. Joe was surprised by his reaction and the two exchanged a heated discourse.

"Dean, it was a specific request and _you_ were to sing it."

"Joe, you don't understand. This is a sick joke." Dean knew Joe didn't understand what he was asking, didn't know the pain associated with this request, couldn't possibly understand all the horrible memories it conjured. "I don't know why someone's doing this, but I know my dad doesn't want to hear me sing _that_ song. Who even requested it?"

"I wasn't supposed to say."

"Well, I'm not singing it."

"Dean, I don't think it's a joke. I really think you need to sing this song. I don't know why, but please… just trust me."

_Trust you? Hell, that sure sounds familiar. What's going on here? Something's not right, that's for damn sure!_

"Who requested it?"

Joe stood debating with himself before finally relenting and spilling the secret, "Chris requested it."

"Chris?"

"Yeah…, you still think he's trying to hurt your family?"

"I don't know… _Chris?" _Dean stammered.

"Yeah, so are you going to sing it?"

Dean looked out into the crowd searching out his dad, trying to see what his reaction had already been from hearing the dedication, _for John and Mary. I don't know why, but I trust Chris… I know he would never intentionally hurt my dad or any of us… There must be a purpose here… but what? Why?_

John's eyes met his son's and the tears welling in them brought tears to Dean's own eyes. Unsure how to proceed, he was comforted when John simply nodded his head _yes_. With permission granted, Dean walked to the microphone and started to sing as the band finished the intro.

Sam's eyes flashed in shock at his brother as Dean voiced the lyrics. It was as if no one else existed in that huge room as the three Winchesters spiritually connected over this one heartfelt song.

_I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus, underneath the mistletoe last night…_

John looked up above his head in the alcove and spotted the mistletoe dangling there, a small sigh left his lips as his memory traveled back to his last Christmas with Mary. He closed his eyes and imagined her soft skin against his, her small hand safe and secure, grasped within the fingers of his huge hand, her lips melting into his, sweet and tender, his hand firmly in the crook of her back drawing her ever closer to him, her heart beating in rhythm with his as their bodies stood pressed together as one. He stood transfixed by the memories and envisioned everything he had longed for over the last eighteen years and then…

Soft lights enveloped him and tiny stars twinkled all around. It was like he was caught up in the Fairy Godmother's spell as she transformed the pumpkin into Cinderella's coach. He felt lightheaded and the room was softly spinning and then she was there, her lips pressed against his, the taste sweet and rich, like fine wine. Her hands gently caressing his face, her soft voice laughing as his fake beard again tickled her, and for the first time in eighteen years, his world was complete. He leaned in and devoured her essence, savoring this moment, treasuring this perfect kiss, knowing it was all a dream, or illusion, or just temporary insanity, but not caring because she was finally where she belonged, safe beside him and he relished this second chance.

The glow from the alcove was brilliant and Dean lost his voice as he gazed on the breathtaking sight before him. His mom so luminous and angelic, shining like a beacon taking him home again to a safe and secure world; all the pains of his life cast aside as wonder filled him with a peaceful serenity, a joy so long lost and finally reclaimed.

Sam felt his breath leave his lips and he shuddered. Pictures could never do his mom justice; she was strikingly beautiful, serene and perfect. The hole he had never fully realized existed in his life was suddenly filled to overflowing with contentment and love… a _mother's _love. As much as Dean had given him over the years, fulfilling the role of brother, father, protector… his _everything_, Dean was simply beyond the capability to be mother, try as he may. Sam suddenly knew what it felt like to have a mom…, for one brief shining moment he was no longer motherless and adrift.

Mary embraced her family and took them deep within her heart. The space of the room diminished and they were joined together as a family filled with love and devotion. All the years of separation and pain healed as they felt united in their love. All too soon the moment vanished, the lights and fairy dust faded and they were left only with their memories. John opened his eyes and she was gone, but her imprint on his heart was stronger than ever.

Dean blinked back tears and descended the stairs of the stage. Sam and he reached their dad at the same moment and John embraced both his sons in a bear hug, silently acknowledging their bond and their loss.

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Dean, the boys and I are leaving now. It's been a pleasure. I'll see you around, alright?"

"Yeah, Joe, see you around. Thanks for everything, man."

"No problem. So, Dean, that was your mom?"

Dean looked up startled, not realizing anyone outside of his family had witnessed Mary's return. "You saw her?" he softly whispered, tears once more brimming his eyes.

"Yeah, beautiful lady, man."

"You don't seem surprised by any of this."

"I told you, Dean, people may say I'm crazy, but life is what's crazy. You just need to go with the flow. Remember when the Eagles broke up? Henley's famous quote?"

Dean smiled at the thought. He hadn't hear it first hand of course, but he'd read it somewhere. "Yeah, that the band would get together again when Hell freezes over."

"Well, we're back together again. Just goes to show miracles do happen. If Hell can freeze over, than I guess anything is possible. Remember that, Dean. Believe in the impossible and it might just happen."

"Like meeting you on a city bus?"

"It wasn't just a coincidence, now was it?"

A blast of cool air whipped by them on the steps of the orphanage and Dean turned away as a particle of dirt landed in his eye temporarily blinding him. With his back to the breeze he blinked several times to dislodge it and turned back to find Joe gone. He glanced through the parking lot and saw no sign of his new friend.

He then heard distant laughter, more like a jolly Ho! Ho! Ho! and he again swung around looking for the source. He was alone on the steps, not a soul in sight. Then as plain as day he heard Chris' voice, _"Believe, Dean, just believe."_

Memories or feelings or something he couldn't quite put his finger on surfaced again on the tip of his tongue, perched precariously at the edge of his mind. As he tried to retrieve the lost information his dad and brother appeared through the doors.

"Son, you ready to go?"

Startled back to reality or what seemed to pass for reality, Dean once more tried to explain the recent happenings. "Dad, what just happened here today?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, was Mom really here?"

"What do you want me to tell you? What do you _believe?_"

"I guess… " Dean hesitated then, not sure if he could reveal what he really hoped for, what he really wished to be true, "I wish… "

"Dean, just say it," John coaxed.

Dean took a deep breath and exposed his heart and soul. "I want to believe that it happened, that Mom's watching over us, that good exists somewhere in this world and we're not alone in this fight against evil."

"Those are good things to believe in, son. No better time than Christmas to wish for them."

"But do you think it's true?"

"I think you're allowed to believe. It's what your mom and I always wanted for you."

The End

All standard disclaimers apply.

bjxmas February 2007, updated December 2007


End file.
